


Taming the Night

by Lucreace



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Blood Angels, Castle AU, Crack?, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fighting, Gift, Love, Luna Wolves, Night Lords, OT3, Romance, Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Vampirism, alternative universe, castle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2020-06-30 03:30:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 43,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19844656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucreace/pseuds/Lucreace
Summary: I suck at titles, I truly do. Here comes the Synopsis:In a world ruled by clans (the Space Marine Legions), War is rife as each struggles for lands and resources. Raids are a common occurrance as each clan needs what they do not have.In a raid on the Blood Angels fortress, Synthalia Naeve, warrior of the Night Lords, is captured. What happens to her is not what she expects. Instead of torture, she is introduced to a very different way of life than the one she has been brought up in. She meets some people that will change her life forever.Those of you who read my writing for the smut, you want chapter 19!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StormBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormBlue/gifts).



> Basically, this tale is based on ideas formed between a good friend of mine and I and how the two characters we write would react should they ever meet. I've changed it up somewhat and made the setting different. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as we have enjoyed discussing it!
> 
> There will be lemons in future chapters but I have wanted to write an enemies to lovers story for the longest time! This seemed like the perfect opportunity.
> 
> Those who read my stuff for the smutty parts, you want chapter 19!

She could no longer see. It wasn't the dark, far from it. The dark would have been comfortable and familiar. No. The glaring light from the torches lining the wall made sure she was kept dazzled and disorientated. She had no choice but to keep her eyes closed. The worst was kept out, but her head ached incessantly from the bright light.  
Her hands were chained down, and her ankles too. The cold of the stone slab she was secured on was uncomfortable, if she was kept here for much longer, it would become a problem. Hard iron dug into her wrists and ankles, already the white skin was irritated and red, soon it would be broken and seeping. It seemed as though the angels didn't know how to keep prisoners in good condition. It was already better than what would have happened if her clan had caught one of them.

Her stomach growled. Parched, her threat was rough when she swallowed. Time had slipped beyond her reckoning already. A blow to her head had robbed her of comprehension during the raid and she had awoken in this glaring dungeon some time later. She had drifted in and out of consciousness for a time, sleep had approached and left. No one had visited. She had not called out; such was not her way. They would deal with her in their own time.

The fight had been exceptional, a rough raid that had gone awry. The Lords of the Night had dealt a hard blow to the Angels of Blood before they had withdrawn. The last thing Synthalia had heard before the sharp rap on the top of her head, was Sevatar’s vicious laughter echoing as he retreated into the gloom.

They would not come for her. As much as she wanted her kin to come for her, she knew they wouldn’t. That was not how they waged war and she was not so important to their cause that they would bother. At least they had made off with the supplies they needed. That was some comfort, she told herself at least.

When the door finally opened, she kept her eyes shut. Turning her face to the door, she tried to open her eyes just a fraction. She still couldn’t see; the glare was like a thousand pins stabbing into her head.

The heavy footfalls of two, no three, warriors entered the room. Their breathing echoed in the cold air; a flood of warmth flowed in with them. She let her eyes slink shut again, not wanting to endure that pain alongside whatever else they had planned for her.

“What do you want?” She snapped at them, not expecting an answer. “Don't you know it's rude to keep a lady chained up.”

“I will be sure to remember that should I ever meet one,” chuckled a low, sonorous voice. It immediately annoyed her.

“What do you want?” She repeated the question.

“Open your eyes.” One of the others, the one to the right.

“No,” she replied. “It's too bright in here.”

“I've heard of the affliction of the Night Lords, how their eyes are black and cannot abide the brightness of day. What does that say about their souls I wonder? That they have to scrabble about in the darkness and shadows.” The final one spoke. His voice was like falling rocks and had all the cheer of a graveyard.

“Turn the torches down,” the first one spoke, “Her kind might be animals, but we are not,” he added. There was some shuffling around, the light in the room dimmed several moments later and slowly, she opened her eyes. It was still bright, but now she was able to adjust to it.

The first thing she noted was the amount of red fabric they were wearing. The three of them were dressed in crimson red robes; the colour they were known to wear in battle.

The tallest wore his hair cropped close, his scarred face regarded her as little more than a cockroach, worthy of being stepped on and nothing more. It was clear he was in charge, the way he carried himself exuded authority. The shortest was a squat fellow. Bulky with muscle and a pinched face akin to a rat she had seen scampering about her home castle. The last fellow let his blonde wavy hair fall to his shoulders. There were lines around his eyes, which she thought were crimson in colour. He was neither short nor tall, scarred or ugly. His build was toned, but not to the point of grotesqueness. Out of the three of them, she thought he looked the fairest, that made him the most dangerous.

“That's better,” the last one said, the one who had declared that she was no lady. “Now, I do believe we have some questions for you.”

“I’d rather die than speak to you,” she snapped.

“That could be arranged,” said the leader, “Like so many of your kin, however we have something different in mind for you,” he said.

“Whatever it is, I will not go along with it. Torture me all you like, I will never follow your plans,” she hissed. She meant it too, whatever they asked of her, she would do the opposite. Straining against her restraints, she found them too tight for her to escape. She could barely lift herself, they were so tight. It was only by lifting her head that she was able to see her captors.

“Be that as it may, you will remain here for some time. And you won’t escape either, so put those thoughts from your head,” the leader said.

“How will you stop me?” she sneered.

“This fortress is isolated on the side of a mountain. You already know that as you saw fit to raid it. What you don’t know is that we monitor all the escape routes, we know where they are, we know where to watch. You’re going to be watched until you no longer want to leave.” Rat-face said. If her mouth hadn’t been so dry, Synthalia would have spat at him.

She would find a way, she knew that. How could these red buffoons know anything about how she worked? They were so different, wasting their time with honour and propriety. The sneer on her face told them what she thought about that.

“What do you want from me?” she asked. “You’re not going to torture me, else you’d have started by now. You’re not going to kill me, as I’d have not been chained to this slab for however long it is that you’ve kept me in your hospitality. So what is it you want?” She almost wished that they would kill her, at least then she’d not have to endure this situation anymore. She looked at them all in turn, almost demanding to know what they had in store for her.

“What do they call you?” the leader asked.

“Depends on what mood I am in.”

“Your name?”

“Synthalia Naeve,” she replied, figuring that there was no real harm in them knowing that much.

“I am Raldoron, Chapter Master of the Blood Angels,” the leader said. There was no warmth in the introduction, she simply gave a single nod of her head. “This is Mephiston, Chief Librarian.” He pointed at the blonde, “And this is Gaius.” The rat faced one nodded in return. Mephiston just looked at her as though she was an interesting experiment. Maybe to them she was.

“Well, if you’re going to keep me like a pet, you may as well loosen these chains,” she muttered, “Unless I am to be kept caged like an animal as well.”

Raldoron appeared to think that over for a moment, then nodded to Gaius. Moments later, her ankles were unshackled. The skin begged to be itched and she rubbed her feet together to ease the soreness. Her wrists followed moments later. Finally, she was able to sit up. Rubbing her hand over her wrist, she could now see the huge red welts that marred here alabaster skin. She didn’t move, instead looked around the small room in which she had been kept.

There was no way she would be able to make it to the door without one of these three grabbing her. She’d not get more then ten feet, though it was tempting all the same. She wondered how fast these Angels were. “So what now?” she asked.

“That very much depends on you,” Raldoron said. “How you behave here will determine how you are treated. If you wish to be treated well, you’ll follow the rules and so as you are told. If you try and escape, your privileges will be revoked. If you act well, you’ll be able to retail the rooms we are about to put you in. I am sure they would be preferable to staying in the dungeon with the lights turned on,” he said.

It seemed simple enough, “You’re not going to place a collar on me, or thrash me until I believe it?” she asked.

Mephiston spoke this time and she noted the melodious tone of his voice for the first time, “I don’t know what the Night Lords do to their prisoners, nor do I want to, however we will treat you well if you act well.” It seemed fair enough and lurking in a prison with bright lights was not something she was overly keen on doing.

She did not understand the extension of trust she was being offered. Synthalia looked at them all in turn and detected no duplicity in them. Slowly, she nodded. She had no intention of keeping to their rules or staying here either but she’d play along for now.

When she heard the sound of water pouring into a glass, she looked around. Her throat ached for water. She had no spit left to moisten her mouth. Pressing thin white lips together, she swallowed and did all she could to ignore the craved liquid. Raldoron handed it to her and nodded. It might have been poisoned, they could have drugged her but she’d gulped the glass down before the thought had even occurred to her. When she was done, she set the glass down on the slab she had been chained to without thanks.

“Come with me,” Raldoron said. “I will show you to the room that will be yours while you are here.” Again, she nodded. 

Without talking, she was led through the bowels of the castle. The brightness of the corridors stung her eyes, but she found that she no longer needed to keep her eyes screwed shut. It still stung, but she could see. The hand that alighted on her shoulder was unnecessary and she shrugged out of the warm touch without comment.

The fortress castle was huge. Larger than the one she claimed was her home by far. The twisting and turning corridors and interconnecting passages soon had her head in a spin and she was unsure where she was. The stone walls were decorated in this part of the castle with large tapestries depicting triumphs of the Blood Angels. Some of them were considerably older than others, though all of them were in good condition. The floor was covered by thick carpets and it was far warmer than home. Everything she saw was well kept and clean, there was no broken trinkets or decaying stone anywhere. Nor was there dust or detritus in the corners of the halls. This place was scrubbed and well kept.

Synthalia was led down another corridor to a large wooden door. Raldoron unlocked it and pushed it open with a light gesture, “This is your space for the time you are kept here,” he said. 

“So I am still a prisoner?” she asked. She tried not to peer into the room, but she was curious. Raldoron nodded. She took a glance and swallowed. Inside was a room fit for an honoured guest, not a prisoner. She could see a fireplace, a large bed with curtains around it. The walls were covered by more tapestries and the floor was thick rugs. It was better than most of the rooms back home. Even Sevatar’s room didn’t look like this. She looked back at the three warriors who had brought her here, disbelief on her face. “Why?” she asked.

“All in time.” Raldoron said. “Go and get settled, the maids will be with you shortly. You smell of sweat and death.”

All she could do was nod as she stepped over the threshold of ‘her’ room. The moment she was inside, the door slammed shut and she heard the turning of a lock. She didn’t care overly much; it would take more than that to keep her in this room. It had a window after all!


	2. Chapter 2

“You’ve got to be insane if you think this is going to work,” Gaius stated the moment the door was locked. He ran his hand over his pinched face and shook his head. Mephiston simply barked out a laugh.

“Come brother,” he said as he walked away from the door. “Do you not want to know what secrets the black eyed woman carries too? Do you not want to know some of the inner workings of the keep of Nostramo?”

They walked away from the room, heading back the way they had come and towards the kitchens. It had been a long night and there were important matters to attend to: filling their stomachs and quenching their thirst. The fight in which they had captured the woman had been a coupld of days ago, but that didn’t mean the damage had been repaired. The three of them had spent most of those days aiding in the repair if the castle as much as they could. Many hands made light work, so the saying went, and in this case it had been true.

“Oh I want to know well enough,” Gaius replied, “But I do not think she will talk. I doubt she’ll stick around long enough for us to learn anything!”

“She’ll not get away,” Raldoron replied, “I made that clear enough.”

“Maybe not, but who will she kill in the attempt?” Gaius said. He pushed open the door leading to the kitchen, the sweet smell of fresh bread wafted out; Mephiston found his mouth water at the anticipation of it.

“She won’t kill anyone,” Mephiston said as he strode into the kitchen.

“Are you so sure about that? She practically gutted Rafen, it’s not looking like he will ever recover properly either,” Gaius said. The three of them found a table at the back of the room and one of the cooks brought over some of the bread, some butter and a plate of cut meat. Enough for them to get their teeth into at the very least.

“Well, if you are so sure,” Raldoron said as he seized a piece of bread, “You can be responsible for her. If she hurts anyone, you’re accountable.”

Mephiston swallowed the piece of bread in his mouth hard and slowly nodded. “I see,” he said. “And if she does kill someone?”

“But you said she wouldn’t!” Gaius said. Mephiston shot his friend a withering look, the smirk did not fade from his face.

“Then we will send her back to her kinsmen in pieces,” Raldoron said. “I will support this experiment but only so far,” he added. Mephiston nodded, as did Gaius. It was fair enough.

“You can’t civilise a Night Lord,” Gaius said before biting into the roll in his hand. “It’s not in their nature.” He spoke with a mouthful of bread; Mephiston rolled his eyes. He didn’t rise to the bait though, he was not going to make a wager on someone’s life and wellbeing for sport. They might not like the woman, but she was still a living, breathing individual, deserving of some dignity at least. If he had known what awaited him later that evening, he might have thought differently.

The conversation turned away from their captive and on to other important matters; how the repairs were coming along, what the next steps were, gossip from Ultramar and rumours of further raids. The bread and meat was quickly consumed and watered ale drank down too, the grub would keep them going until the main meal was served later.

Gaius was about to take his leave, he had duties to attend to as they all did, when a panicked looking serf burst into the room. The young lass was red in the face and had clearly been running. She paused to snatch a hasty breath, swallowed and blurted out, “She’s gone. We took the tub to her room, unlocked it. Out the window! She-“

“Slow down,” Mephiston said. He crossed the room to the door and drew the maid into it, bringing her to one of the chairs. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No Sir,” she said with a shake of her head, “The room was empty. The window was open though, banging in the awful wind, but there was no sign of the woman.”

Raldoron gave Mephiston a stern look, “It seems as though your ward has escaped already,” he said dryly. He did not swear, instead he simply left the maid with his two friends and bolted down the hall to the rooms they had left the woman in. Two other maids were in the room with a large tub. He strode over to the window and peered out of it. The sheer drop down the side of the castle ended in sharp rocks. It was over a hundred foot to the bottom. Looking up, he saw an open window three storeys up. The wall of the castle was sheer with few handholds, it would have been a hard climb.

He thought for a moment before turning back in, it was not a climb he was confident enough to make and he didn’t want to fall onto the rocks below. That window led into the library, which was a warren of stacks and shelves at the best of times. Mephiston was running, out the door, down the hall and then bounding up the three flights of stairs to the library.

He didn’t hesitate, but he didn’t tear the door open in a fury either. There had been no evidence that anything outside the room had been disturbed, no footsteps or anything out of place. The rug hadn’t been moved or rumpled by hasty footsteps; she must still be in the library. The lights were dim, the shadows flickered and danced on the wall as he moved into the room. No wonder she was hiding out in here, the light in the hallway must have been far too bright.

“Synthalia,” he said, knowing his voice carried through the room. “I know you’re in here somewhere and can hear me. You cannot escape this place.” No answer was forthcoming, he stepped a little further into the room. Walking towards the open window, he looked around but still saw no sign of her. He reached out and shut it tightly, not wanting her to use that as an escape route. She had already proven to be a good climber, and a fearless one at that.

After shutting the window, he headed to the large fireplace. The coals had burned low, though there was still some heat in them. There wasn’t a sound, not even the popping of coals or the rustle of paper. Mephiston held his breath, stilled his hearts, focused his hearing.

He had always thought of himself as a skilled hunter. He had been on several hunts, more than he could count, a lot of them successful. Mephiston did not see the book coming. It struck him on the temple sending waves of white sparks over his vision.

Footsteps pounded towards the door. Grabbing the nearest thing he could, he hurled it at the shape as his vision returned. The book hit her right shoulder, altered her momentum, toppled her over. She landed on her hand and pushed herself up. He shook his head, clearing the last of the sparks. Their eyes met. Then she was running at him. The scream spilling from her mouth didn’t sound human.

He blocked the first blow with his forearm, the second he dodged from. The kick caught him in the stomach. She was quick, lithe and her eyes blazed with hate. “Synthalia!” he barked, “Stop that!”

She snorted and brought her knee up to his crotch. He caught her leg and yanked upwards, sending her sprawling onto her back. There was a thud and a whoosh of air. She coughed and rolled to her side. Mephiston grabbed her foot. She kicked his hand with her other, even as she struggled for breath.

“Let me go!” she roared.

“Why? So you can kick me again?”

She did it anyway. His grip broke and she thrust her foot at his face, she caught his bicep with enough force to bruise. It would have broken his nose if it had landed. “That is enough!” he roared back. She didn’t stop, she sprang to her feet and launched herself at him with a shout. He caught her and threw her to the side. This time, he raised his hands in defence. When she lashed out at him, he grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her in. He spun her so his back was against his chest and he wrapped his arms over her smaller frame.

She struggled and wiggled. He tightened his grip, lifting her up. Her legs thrashed. Her hands scrabbled against his, nails scratching into his flesh. She snapped her head back, he dodged his to the side. Then her teeth sank into his forearm. He roared. “Hah!” she snapped, “Got you that time!”

Her teeth snapped at his flesh again, pain ripped through his arm. Fury built, hot and heavy, in his chest. Two could play at that game. Leaning down he bit her shoulder. He felt skin tear under his fangs, blood oozed into his mouth, not welcome but necessary. She screamed. Her hands clawed at his scalp, pulled his hair. He bit harder.

He released her from his mouth, his hand covered her face. She scrabbled and thrashed, bumped and struggled. “I am not going to kill you,” he said, his voice softer now. “But you will not escape.”

She muffled something against his palm, he was sure she had just tried to tell him she hated him. There was no surprise there, she was a hateful creature and after the bruises she had given him, he was inclined to return the sentiment. Her struggles lessened, He did not remove his hand until he felt her body go limp. He then lifted her in his arms and left the library.

It did not take long to carry her back to the room she had been given. Once he was there, he placed her in the care of the maids, lingering outside to ensure there was no further trouble. When they reappeared, they told him that she was resting in the bed, and that she had not regained consciousness, though she would be fine. Mephiston only went into the room to ensure the window was sealed shut, a feat he managed with the gift he kept hidden from the world. Only then did he return to his companions and inform them of what had occurred. What her fate would be was yet to be seen.


	3. Chapter 3

Artemesia smoothed down the red satin of her skirt and folded her slender arms over her chest. The day had extended into evening and she was still alone with her ladies. Her painting had become dull, she no longer felt like reading and the weather had forced them all to stay inside. Usually by this time her father had returned and they’d have left their rooms and gone to have dinner and converse with other members of the clan.

Maybe it was another raid. Perhaps her father and his companions had been waylaid and had not returned yet. No, that wasn’t right, she’d not heard them leave and he always told her if he was leaving. No, this was an internal matter that was keeping him. She looked at the painting again but found there was no motivation within her to get it done. She’d been doing it for hours already and her mind was no longer focused on it.

“Lady?” One of her women, Feda, asked.

“I’ve had enough of this,” she said. “We should go and find some food.”

The women looked at her for a moment, some of them set aside their tasks. “Without your father?” Catharina asked.

“We are grown women, we don’t need him to escort us to the kitchen,” Artemesia said. “Put your tasks down, we’ll go and fend for ourselves.” She pushed her wavy blonde hair out of her face and waited for her women to rise. Embroidery was placed aside, brushes and pencils put away and paper tucked away. They all got up and she began to lead them out of the ladies waiting rooms and to the feasting halls

It wasn’t far to the halls, and the conversations could be heard from outside the rooms. The voices were familiar, friendly even. Artemesia was the daughter of the clan master, she would be welcomed within the halls even without her father here. A hush settled as she entered the room, and remained until they were all seated. Serving staff brought plates of food to the ladies table. The noise resumed though the seat of her father and two of his closest advisors remained empty. Gaius she and no love for, but Mephiston’s absence made her pause. She knew he was a good warrior, a good friend and a loyal clan member, whatever it was that kept them must be serious.

They’d been sat for fifteen minutes, and she’d managed to eat some meat, when her father and the missing clan members arrived. Her father walked over to where they were sat, an easy smile flittered onto his face when their eyes met. Relief flooded her, though questions rapidly followed when she saw the bruised face of her betrothed. “What happened?” she asked, indicated Mephistion.

“I had a run in with a vicious opponent,” he said. A small smile touched her lips.

“In the castle?” she asked.

Gaius plonked himself onto a chair he’d dragged over, leaned on the table and laughed. “Your future husband thinks he can tame a Night Lord!” Catharina laughed at his words, however she tilted her head.

“What is he called?” she asked.

“SHE is called Synthalia.” Raldoron said.

“A woman did that?” she scoffed, “What sort of barbarian have you caught?”

“A Night Lord!” Gaius replied.

“Why would you want to tame one?” she asked. Feda and Catharina leaned in as well, keen to hear the reasons for this odd development. Raldoron and Gaius also turned to Mephiston, wanting to hear his thoughts again.

“I want to prove that it can be done. That the Night Lord’s clan are more than simple murderers and thieves, that they are capable of more given the right input and stimuli,” he said. “And to see the look on her companion’s faces when she chooses to stay here instead!” he added.

“I see your experiment went well,” Artemesia said dryly.

“Now, now,” her father warned. She was supposed to be a lady and sarcasm was not becoming of her, or so she was repeatedly told.

“Anything worth doing isn’t easy,” Mephiston said. He reached over and picked up one of the bread rolls, “And I doubt these will be the only bruises I’ll get from her.” He bit into the roll, and as he raised his arm, she noticed teeth marks marring his pale skin. Artemesia didn’t like the idea of him messing about with this woman, but she had little choice in the matter. There would be ways of dealing with it if it became a problem in the future. She sighed.

“I suppose the idea has some merit,” she said, already feigning disinterest. If she was too interested in it, they might ask her for help. Anything that was another woman spending time with her betrothed was not something she wanted to help with. “What else have you been doing?” she asked.

He told her about the chase and fight in the library, and then about the repairs he had looked after during the day. She listened, and the told him about the painting she had worked on. He always listened to her day. Catharina and Feda engaged Gaius in chatter and her father left them to it. He had other clan members to speak to after all and she would see him later.

Artemesia finished her meal as Mephiston spoke. She tried to listen to what he was saying, however she found her attention drifting. She would snap back feeling guilty onto to find her mind wandering all over again. His conversation about weaponry and fighting was not something that interested her. She had no talent like he had and so his expression of that was also beyond her. He was chief librarian, he had abilities that she could only dream of, how could she relate to that? His discoveries and learning on the matter had no relevance for him.

She stifled a yawn. “Are you tired lady?” Mephiston asked.

“Sorry, yes,” she said, flushing at having been discovered.

“Come, I’ll walk you back to your rooms. Your ladies are in conversation and it would be a shame to deprive Gaius of their company,” he said. She looked over and saw he was right. She nodded.

“Is that entirely proper?” she asked.

He placed a hand on his chest and smiled, “I won’t do anything I shouldn’t,” he said. She thought for a moment and then nodded, there would be no harm in the short walk to her rooms and Mephistion had never done anything to harm her honour or integrity. She knew she shouldn’t worry about being alone with him, but they were not bound together yet and she didn’t want anyone to talk about foul-play before hand.

When she rose, he offered her the crook of his arm, which she rested her slender hand on. He then led her from the feasting hall and turned towards her rooms. Neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward but nor was it entirely comfortable either. She didn’t quite know what to say to the Chief Librarian. He was always kind to her, but sometimes she wondered at the distance between them. Part of her wished she had his abilities and that she could see what was going on inside his mind. At least then they would have something to talk about.

As he had indicated, it did not take long to get to her rooms. When they reached the door, she turned and smiled at him. “Thank you for seeing me back,” she said.

He took her little hand in his much larger one and turned to face her. Despite herself, her breath caught in her throat. His deep red eyes were soulful, how had she not noticed that before? She found her heart fluttering as he leaned forward. Was he going to kiss her? She certainly hoped so.

He did not let her down. Soft lips touched hers with the barest of impression, as though a ghost at reached out and touched her. He pulled away the moment the contact had started. Her heart sank. She claimed her hand back but the smile never faded from her face. Artemesia was a lady, she knew better than to let that disappointment growing in her chest show physically.

“I will see you tomorrow?” she asked.

Mephiston gave a nod, “All being as it should, yes.”

Her hand felt the handle of the door and she opened it slowly. “Good night,” she said.

“Sleep well Lady,” he replied. He left her then and she watched his masculine form recede down the corridor. Pressing her lips together, she fled into her room. At least he had kissed her mouth and not on the forehead as though she were his sister or mother. Picking up a book, she headed to her private chambers, her ladies would return to help her undress later, and she could ask Feda about her marriage and love. She wondered when the passion she had read about started, dearly hoping that it would come to them. Artemesia dearly wanted to experience that sweeping desire she’d heard of from her ladies, ideally with Mephiston. It would come in time. Opening the page of her book, she relaxed into the couch and resolved to think about it another day.


	4. Chapter 4

Synthalia was bored. She had been bored for a day now. The only time she had seen anyone after she had been ditched back here, was when they brought her food. No one spoke to her, other than to tell her the food had arrived. They left her with it and that was that. She had brushed out her long black hair when she awoke. Several bruises marred her alabaster skin, though they were already fading. She’d had worse at the hands of her brothers.

When Synthalia had awoken, she had been dressed in some white, lacy gown that reached her ankles. She certainly hadn’t changed into that. She’d not be caught dead in anything with that much swish! There was a dresser in the room, though upon opening it she discovered more satin and lace than she had ever seen in her life before. In a myriad of colours as well. None of them would suit her, far too many ruffles. There was no way she would be able to run or fight in that! Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything else and she couldn’t find her other clothes. She left off the corsetry and other paraphernalia and opted for a loose shift. It was the least worst option.

It had taken an hour for her to search the room and realise that there was no way out of the room now that the window had been sealed shut. Of course she had searched extensively for a secret way in or out of the room, but found nothing. There was no hidden panel behind a bookcase, no doorway behind a tapestry and no trapdoor under the rug. It was positively boring. The floor was made of stone, so no hidden staircase revealed itself either. She had been provided with several books, though she was no avid reader. Not one of the books grabbed her attention; most of them were cheesy romance books with terribly drawn embraces on the front.

The others were factual books concerning the history of the world, one about creation, one contained myths and legends. A slender volume caught her eye however and she pulled it from the shelf. The penmanship was good, though the subject wasn’t one she was familiar with. The ability to use the mind to influence others was not unheard of within her clan, but it was discouraged. Those who did not quash their ‘gifts’ were taken to melancholy and madness. Opening the first page, she began to read through the treatise with mild interest.

When the door to the room opened, she was half way through the small book. She looked up, a scowl on her face. “What do you want?” she asked. It was the blonde one, the one she had headbutted. He was still bruised, that made her smile. His teeth had made a mess of her neck, at least her violence had left a mark too.

“Is that any way to greet your benefactor?”

“You’re my jailor and we both know it. Do you want some more bruises?” she asked. She folded the corner of the book and placed it on the bed beside her.

“I’d rather talk,” he said.

Synthalia snorted, “I’ve nothing to say to you.”

She kept her eyes on him as he took a chair, dragged it around so he was facing her and looked at the book, “So you can read then?”

“Of course I can read!” she snapped, “What do you take me for?”

“Well, I know so little about your clan that I have nothing to go on,” Mephiston said. He pushed blonde waves back from his forehead. She shook her head.

“We’re not animals!”

“You fight like one.”

She shrugged, “It works. We can all fight, men and women. And we dress like warriors, not in shifts and layers of frills!” She gestured to the cupboard that was filled with the offending garments. “We learned long ago that those who cannot fight can still die, we use every available resource we have.”

“Undisciplined and lawless, though we are each of us different.” It seemed as though he didn’t want to quarrel. Synthalia folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. “What were you reading?”

“The interesting book on the shelf,” she said, “I’m not gifted, not many of my clan are, but that offered good ideas on what it might be like. The person who wrote it in an interesting style, it made sense to someone who had no ability and they didn’t treat the reader like an uneducated idiot.”

She had picked the volume up again, slight as it was, and turned it over in her hands. The cover was red, the same as the Blood Angels colour and the penmanship was remarkable.

“I wrote that,” he said.

“Bullshit!”

“No, I did. A long time ago. I thought it had been destroyed, or fallen apart.” He held out his hand for the book and, after a moment’s thought, she handed it over. She watched as he flicked the book open, a small smile spreading over his face as he looked through it. “I was so naïve, though I am sure some of the meanings hold true.” He found a page and showed her a diagram. It looked as though rays were coming out of the top of someone’s head. The small script describing it was barely legible.

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked, trying to keep a smirk from her face. The picture was ill proportioned and one eye was larger than the other giving it the appearance of a demented troll. Mephiston pulled a face. “Apart from the disastrous drawing, this is not how it works at all. You don’t project your thoughts out like I once thought, but they’re kept in. They can only be read if gifted individual wants to, otherwise we’d be reading thoughts all the time. It would drive us mad.”

“Did you draw that?”

“Like you could do any better?”

She conceded that point. She was no artist. “Alright,” she said with a grumble. “You going to let me read the rest or what?”

Mephiston raised an eyebrow at her. “On one condition,” he said.

“What?” she snorted.

He paused for a moment, “Dress properly and come to dinner,” he said.

“What?”

“And ask me nicely,”

It was her turn to think. It wasn’t much of one, stay in the room on her own, or go and eat something in the company of this clan. “Fine,” she nodded, “But I am wearing the dark blue one.” Another pause, “And can I have the book back please?”

The smile on his face was the wrong side of smug and she had to fight the urge to punch it off. “I shall come for you this evening then,” he said before handing over the book. HE got up then, offered her a tight lipped smile and nodded.

“Until later then?”

“I suppose so,” she replied. She had already opened the book again and relaxed when he shut the door behind him. The thought of wearing a dress was not a pleasant one, but she would get to see how ‘civilised’ people behaved.


	5. Chapter 5

True to his word, Mephiston called for her that evening. True to her word, Synthalia had struggled into one of the midnight blue garments that had hung in the wardrobe. It was form fitting at the top and far too ruffled and puffy at the bottom. She had managed to get the corset on and although she would never admit it, she thought her breasts looked pretty good pushed up as they were. She had also taken the trouble to bathe, but had waved off the serfs when they offered to fix her hair and clothing. She could manage on her own well enough, or so she had thought.

It had taken a good deal of wiggling, some creative, colourful cursing and an adaptation in breathing but she had managed. She was far from comfortable but it would please her captors and that was something. The only thing missing from the satin gown was the vivid streaks of lightning that covered her other clothing. It would do. 

By the look on his face, the Blood Angel approved. “What?” She asked when his scrutiny became too much for her. He merely smiled and offered his arm as an answer. “Is it too much?” She asked, gesturing to herself. Synthalia felt exposed, as though she was on display. In a way she supposed that she was.

“No,” Mephiston said, “It’s fine, you look-”

“Ridiculous.” She finished him off.

“I was going to say lovely,” he said. She snorted and took his arm, placing her white hand at the elbow. His skin was warm, she could feel heat radiating through the white shirt he wore. Synthalia shuffled. Loathe as she was to admit it, her captor cast a fine figure in the formal digs he wore. She straightened and he led her to the dinner hall.

It was a short walk, and what she saw on entry took her breath away. A huge tinkling chandelier illuminated the hall with flickering, crystal light. It was pristine, everything was immaculately clean and orderly, and light. She flinched a little as her sensitive eyes adjusted. “I had the serfs dim the lighting for the evening,” Mephiston said as they walked into the room itself.

“That’s kind of you,” she said, genuinely unsure what to say to that. She was a prisoner, he had no right to do something like that on her behest. 

There were plenty of his kinsmen and kinswoman around the room as well. They’d been engaged in conversation and drinking from sparkling glasses when they entered, now they had fallen silent. Their gazes fell on her, heat touched her white cheeks and she got the terrible impression this had been a bad idea. Not one of the faces had a smile on them. Not one of them offered a friendly gaze. She swallowed.

“What?” She barked before she could stop herself, “Have you never seen a pair of white tits before?” 

Mephiston coughed, she could have sworn he was covering up a laugh. She scoured the room with black eyes, glaring at them all.

A deep, rough laugh echoed from the back of the room, splitting the tension. Synthalia grinned, refusing to show how she truly felt. Mephiston patted her hand and the rest of the room turned back to its drinks and conversation without batting another eye. 

The owner of the laugh strode through the throng, his wide smile fixed on his face. A huge yellow beard covered most of his face but it couldn't hide the mirth filled eyes or rosy cheeks. “Barney,” Mephiston said with a nod, “When did you get back?” 

“About an hour ago,” Barney replied. “Who is this fair maiden?” His vivid blue eyes turned to Synthalia, who did her best not to snarl.

“Synthalia Naeve,” she replied. She did not curtsey or bow, instead looked this man in the eyes, a small frown on her face, “You are no Blood Angel,” she said.

The laugh that followed was as booming as the first. “She’s got eyes this one.” She rolled them. “But astute, I am a Space Wolf. You might remember the war a few years back.” She nodded, “As a part of the talks that stopped that, I agreed to stay here, and Belephon is with my clan,” he said.

“A sort of exchange?”

Barney nodded, “Yes. They like to think they can civilise people here,” he winked at Mephiston, “But it’s not all that.”

Mephiston coughed, “And the woman?”

“Dagmar’s in the bath,” he shrugged, “Woman always likes to bath after a campaign, she might turn up later, she might pass out in the hot water.”

Mephiston laughed, “That sounds like her.” Barney laughed again and clapped Mephiston’s shoulder with his huge hand. He made his farewells then, leaving the two of them alone once more. Synthalia got the impression that a great storm cloud had passed and calm could reign once more.

“I like him,” she said absently as they moved towards one of the dining tables.

“He is loud, but kind.” Mephiston pulled a chair out for her and she shuffled into it. She tucked herself in, though she was sure he’d have done so for her. She looked down at the table and felt dismay at the amount of cutlery. Never before had she seen so many knives and forks together, what were they all for? She shook her head. “Outside and work inwards,” Mephiston said as he sat down beside her.

The rest of the table filled up with others. A delicate looking woman with perfect blonde hair, a slender narrow waist and a dainty way of moving sat on the other side of Mephiston. The other two who had spoke to her in the small room, Gaius and Raldoron joined soon after. Another woman sat and the table was full.

“Who is this?” the blonde woman asked looking at Mephiston.

“Synthalia Naeve,” Synthalia replied, quite capable of answering for herself. Plates of hot food were brought and placed in the centre of the table. Plates were given out. The smell made her mouth water and she was desperately hungry, however she waited. This was not through knowledge of good manners, far from it. When her clan bothered to sit down to eat together, there was a strict order of who ate first. She had no idea if that applied here, but she’d not risk the berating she’d get if it did.

It was Raldoron who spoke. “Eat,” he said simply, “We’re not on ceremony, no need for hesitation. Enjoy this,” he said.

“Will you serve me?” the blonde woman asked Mephistion. Synthalia raised an eyebrow, was she unable to serve herself? She had no such qualms. Reaching forward, she picked up the tongs and began helping herself to slices of meat and steaming vegetables. She also grabbed a bread roll which smelled better than any she had ever had before.

If anyone tried to speak to her, she didn’t hear them. Synthalia was far too busy getting acquainted with the Blood Angel’s food. She refilled her plate twice. When she was done, she pushed her plate back a way and sighed. The corset dug into her stomach and sides and breathing wasn’t easy, but she wasn’t too uncomfortable. She rested her hands on the table and tried not to feel too out of place.

“Do they not have food in your clan?” the blonde-haired woman asked.

Synthalia picked up the sparking glass of white wine and took a sip, “Not like this, or not often anyway,” she said after a moment. She had decided to be honest, a rare thought perhaps but the good food had made her content.

“Are there no serfs to provide it?”

“Artemesia,”

“What, I want to know,” she said, informing Raldoron of her wishes.

“We have serfs,” she said, “They spend most the time repairing weaponry and armour.” It was evident that this clan had more resources than hers but that didn’t mean she had no pride in her home and kin. Artemesia remained silent for a while.

“And what about women? You came here dressed like a man, are you forced to fight too?” she asked. Her blue eyes were wide, curious. Synthalia narrowed hers.

“Forced would be a lie,” she said steadily. “I was happy to fight alongside my clan.” She kept the answer neutral; these people were not her clan and she needed to remember that, full belly or not.

Artemesia brought her hand to her mouth for a moment. Mephiston was leaning back, talking softly to Gaius.

“And do you dress like a man all the time?”

“It’s better than being all trussed up like this all the time,” she snorted. “It’s all very well walking around with your tits thrust forward and your waist all clinched in, but the ruffs would get in the way in a fight and you’d never be able to run in these shoes,” she said. “Besides you-“ Synthalia stopped talking. She heard something that made her ears burn. As she had been speaking, Artemesia had been making eyes with the woman on the other side of the table. Glances has passed.

They were laughing. Synthalia’s gut clenched and she looked from one pathetic, simpering woman to the next and back again. A deep sneer twisted her face as she realised she was nothing but a source of entertainment for them. She scrapped the chair back out from under the table, got to her feet and snarled. “It might not be much, but at least a bitch like me can serve her own food,” she snapped. She left then, ignoring the laughter that hit her back, ignoring the sting in her eyes, ignoring the whole damned room. She had been foolish to even consider going; she was not one of them and she was damned pleased about that.

By the time she got back to her room, she was furious.

The door opened the moment she has slammed it shut. Mephiston stood in the doorway.

  
“What?” she snapped, “Did you take me there just for them to laugh? Did you?” She looked around, picked up the first thing she could see and hurled it at his head. He caught the book and held on to it. Distantly, she admired his reflexes.

“No,” he replied.

“When why? Why did you let them. I’m not a fucking dog for you to train. I am a person. I’m not for you to parade around as a prized pet!” She tugged off a shoe and hurled it. This time, he ducked.

He stepped into the room and placed the book on the table. “Synthalia I-“  


“I want to go home!” she yelled. “It might be violent, it might be rough but at least no one laughed at me. No one thought I was a joke. I knew what was expected.”

“You can’t go home,” he said.

“Why? So your woman can poke fun at me for the rest of time?” She missed her kinsmen, she missed Jago, she missed the mess and easy way of living.

“No!” he said.

“Why then? Why do you keep me here?” He was closer now, she wanted him away from her. He was the cause of this nonsense. She placed her hands on his firm chest and shoved him away. Mephiston barely moved. She pushed again. “Why?” she demanded.

Strong hands caught her wrists. He looked as though he might speak. When he said nothing, the fury exploded. She writhed and wiggled, strained and pulled against his grip. “Stop it,” he said.

“Let me go!” she yelled, twisting again. She found the weak point in his grasp and pulled free. Curling her hand into a fist, she struck his jaw. He howled and sprang into motion. His first blow went wide, she ducked under it. She did not expect his kick however. The volumous skirt got in the way and she tumbled onto her back. It further hindered her getting up. The tight corset stopped her filling her lungs, her vision swam. “Fuck,” she hissed. She rolled onto her hands and knees, expecting further blows. None came. “I am never wearing anything like this again,” she gasped.

Hands touched her shoulder, “Get off me!” she yelled, “Don’t you get it? Go away. If I cannot leave, at least I don’t have to endure your presence. Go to your pathetic blonde cunt and leave me alone!” By the end, her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

His touch lingered a little but withdrew. “When you are ready to listen,” he said, “I will explain everything to you but I don’t think you want to listen now, you want to hate and to fight. I have had enough of those things.” Synthalia coughed and got to her feet. Her dress was rumpled, her hair tousled and falling down her face. She didn’t bother straightening either.

“Go then,” she snarled. Mephiston pushed his wavy blonde hair from his face, his expression stony. She found that she didn’t want to see that expression on his face again, though she was unsure why. He kicked her shoe back into the room before closing it without saying a word. She almost called him back, though again, she didn’t know why. Instead, she yanked the laces, undid her corset and threw the offending dress aside. She grabbed the book she had hurled and threw herself on the bed without a stitch on. Sleep would be a long time coming.


	6. Chapter 6

How was he going to explain everything to her without her cleaving his head in? Mephiston had learned one thing about Synthalia and that was her hold on her temper was not as strong as she liked to think it was. She was turning out to be far more trouble than he had asked for, but he did not regret the challenge. Not one bit. She was interesting and fiery where Artemesia was not. Synthalia was passionate where Artemesia was demure and reserved. It was rather refreshing in many ways.

Thinking of which, he had left his betrothed when Synthalia had stormed out. He knew the woman would be reeling and fully expecting him to return to her and comfort her after the hard language. He knew he should go to her and see to her as well but the idea of comforting her left his blood cold. It wasn’t that he disliked her, he just struggled to find anything to speak to her about.

Flicking curls from his face, he let out a sigh and decided that he should do as he ought. Returning to the feasting hall, he found Feda waiting for him. “Where is she?” he asked.

“She has retired, Catarina has gone with her.” Mephiston turned to go, “I warn you, she is less than pleased.” He nodded and turned back down the corridor. He had resolved to see her and he would do so regardless. Besides, she was less likely to throw a shoe at him.

He was at her door in minutes, though he had not run. Artemesia’s room was not far from the centre of the castle, Emperor forbid that she should tire herself out walking too far. When he arrived at the door, he tapped on it lightly. Catatina answered it, her expression frosty. “Come in.”

Mephiston followed the pinch faced woman into the room. Artemesia was leaning on a chaise, her face was pale and her eyed red-rimmed. Mephiston folded his arms over his chest and waited a moment. The blonde woman looked up and shook her head. “Leave us Catarina.”

“You should not be alone with him, it is not proper.”

“Leave us,” she repeated. The woman paused for a moment, her indecision clear on her face, before she consented and walked out the room. When the door was shut behind her, Artemesia turned her attention to him.

“You have to get rid of her,” she said. Her tone was cold.

“No,” Mephiston said. “I don’t.”

“But she is odious. Did you not hear her at dinner? How can you bare to keep someone like that around?” Her expression was scandalised, as though this was the height of offensive behaviour.

“None the less, I am not getting rid of her,” Mephiston said. Artemesia’s face screwed up and a fresh wash of tears flowed down her face. She had done this with him before when he hadn’t listened to her. In most things, he had always relented. She was a lady, she hadn’t been exposed to such brutality before. In the past, he would relent, hating to see the tears but now he found them annoying.

“How could you?”

“I might ask the same of you,” he said.

She stopped crying immediately and her eyes widened, “What do you mean?” she asked. She wiped the tears away with a tissue and waited for his explanation.

“You started it when you asked your questions. Or am I to believe that they were out of genuine curiosity?” Mephiston said.

“Of course they were!”

“Don’t lie to me, you asked her questions and then laughed at her answers. If you poke a dog with a stick, don’t be surprised if it turns around and bites. Her words might have been harsh, but you deserved them.” He let his arms fall to his sides and shook his head. Watching her, he saw her cheeks turn from blanched white to pink to flushed red.

“How dare you?” she snapped.

“No, how dare you.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking her side in this? She doesn’t even belong here!” Artemesia’s voice had turned into a shriek. A shrill piercing sound that set his teeth on edge, though she didn’t throw anything at him.

“She doesn’t belong anywhere now does she?”

“And who do we have to blame for that? You should have left her to die with the rest of her hateful clan instead of bringing her here to torment me.” Artemesia huffed and leaned back on the chaise further. He realised then that this had been a bad idea. He should have let her calm down before coming to check on her. Artemesia was at her most irritating when she was in a snit. It could take her a long time to come around and it didn’t matter who spoke to her.

“I shall see you later,” he said.

“Wait, don’t go!” she said.

“So you can throw more accusations at me? I don’t think so.”

“That’s not it,” she had sat forward and was looking at him intently, “I shouldn’t be upset with you, you’re trying to do a kindness. I just don’t want to see you getting hurt.”

Mephiston turned back to her and walked over to where she was sat. He popped himself down at the end of the chaise, careful not to touch her. He did not crave the contact with her in the way he had once. “How would I get hurt?” he asked.

“She is so vicious, I do not think she will ever become one of us.” She reached over and took his large hands in her smaller ones. “She’ll never fit in here and we both know that. Perhaps this is a bad idea and should be abandoned.” She was using her trying to be reasonable tone, and he appreciated her trying, but he knew that what she really wanted was him to turn Synthalia out of the castle and therefore out of their lives. It would not happen.

“How will I know if I do not try properly?” he said taking his hands back. “You have concerns, she is a quick-tempered woman and she has a sharp tongue but that doesn’t mean she cannot find a place here. Give it time.” He watched her expression carefully, watching as this information sank in. Slowly. Artemesia nodded. She shuffled and shifted so that she was sitting beside him. Her hand brushed back some of his curls and he turned to look at her. Her hand was cold, clammy even and he titled his head a little.

“So, you’re going to keep her around and see if she can be civilised?” she asked. Mephiston nodded, “And what if she can’t? What then?”

“We shall see what happens first,” he said. Artemesia leaned up and pressed cool lips to his cheek.

“Just be careful, a woman like that will use whatever she can to get you where she wants you. I would hate to see you get hurt,” she said. Mephiston took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“We shall see,” he said. He knew what she wanted and found that he had to at least give her that. Her skin was soft, he could say that much. He ran his fingers over her cheek to her jaw and tilted her face up to his. Her red-rimmed eyes danced and drifted shut as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. Problem was, as he did so, instead of her bright blue ones, he was imagining fierce black ones instead.

The kiss broke and she seemed mollified. Bidding her farewell, he left Artemesia’s rooms. Catarina was waiting outside, her expression stern, as if she had known they were doing something they weren’t supposed to do. “Go and see to her, she is calm,” Mephiston said. His mind was already elsewhere, drawn back to the other woman he had brought to the castle. That meeting could wait, he needed to refresh himself, rest and try to dismiss both of them from his mind for at least a while!


	7. Chapter 7

When she awoke, Synthalia felt far clearer than she had when she fell asleep. Her rage had subsided and although she was in no rush to see anyone from the previous evening in a hurry, she no longer felt the need to pound them either. She got up, stretched her arms out and headed over to the window. Throwing back the curtains let the brilliant sunlight stream in. Flinching back, she screwed her eyes up, but didn’t shut the curtains. If this was going to be her life now, she might as well get used to the light.

As she moved, she felt tension in her legs. It had been too long since she had been out and ran, stretched completely and exercised. She wondered if she would be able to go out and at least walk somewhere. It was a shame that the wardrobes were full of fancy, ornate dresses with no function whatsoever. She had tried that the night before and it hadn’t been that much fun. She shut the damned thing with a heavy hand and yanked open one of the drawers. Pulling out one of the shirts, she pulled it on. It was ruffled and flouncy but she thought she could fix it without too much trouble.

She grabbed the ruff at the front and pulled sharply. It came away with a ripping sound and she tossed the fabric aside. It hadn’t ripped any of the essential parts and for now, she could be happy with it. The ruffs at the cuffs she could live with. Now she just needed something that wasn’t so long and skirt-like. Rummaging through the drawer brought up nothing, everything was a swish of rich fabric and uselessness. She did manage to find some wide legged trousers, but there was so much material that they may as well have been a skirt. Knowing that she couldn’t walk around in her underwear, which also had stupid frills on it, she tugged the skirt trousers on anyway.

It wasn’t comfortable but it wasn’t a corset. She could breath and her movements were not as hindered as they were the previous evening. Picking up the book that Mephiston had written, she walked to the door and tried it. Damned thing was locked, though she was not sure what else she had been expecting. She bent down to look at the lock and wondered if she could pick it. She had never had to do so before, and had no real idea where to start with it.

The window was just as complicated.

She paced the room a couple of times, aware that there was no way out of this one. Crossing to the door again, she tugged on it with all her strength. It rattled but stayed put. Damn it, it looked like she was going to have to stay where she was until someone came to get her. Her stomach growled.

“Hey!” she yelled at the door, “Anyone there?”

There was no answer.

She called again with the same effect.

She snorted and headed to the chair, if she couldn’t get out, she would read until someone appeared to let her out. The book was interesting, and although she resented the author, she found that he read the words in his voice. It might be old but it was fascinating.

The moment the lock turned, she looked up and placed the book on the low table. It was Mephiston. She didn’t smile, but the urge to launch things at him had passed. “Morning,” he said. He had a plate of fruit with him, which he placed on the table. Picking up an apple, she turned it in her hands.

“Hello,” she said before biting into the piece of fruit. It was soft and juicy.

“It’s a nice day, we should go out while it’s not raining,” he said. Synthalia nodded and got to her feet.

“This is hardly outdoor clothing, but it will do. What I really want to do is run, but this won’t do,” she said gesturing to her clothes.

“Well, I won’t have to worry about having to chase you,” he said. The smile on his face forced one onto hers and she conceded a nod. She gestured and he led her out of the room. The walk through the corridor was silent, but she didn’t feel awkward. Sneaking glances at Mephiston, he noted once more that he was a fine figure. His wavy blonde hair looked soft and she wanted to touch it. He’d pinned most of it back from his forehead and his face was bright. None of the anger from the previous night showed, and his red eyes appeared friendly even.

When they reached the door, he opened it for her and she stepped into the cool, damp air. She filled her lungs and let out the breath slowly. It was good, refreshing her mind and sharpening her senses. “Come on, show me the grounds,” she said with a hand gesture. The grounds appeared formal at first, and they walked silently around them. No one else was out here, and she cared not where they had gone. The further away from the castle they walked however, the wilder the grounds became. The trees were less trimmed, the grass longer and creeping vines trailed the floor. The damp air added a scent of green to the air and she found she rather liked it.

She paused when they reached a fallen log and sat down on it. Not because she was tired, but because she wanted to enjoy the time outside. Mephiston sat beside her and for a long while, they were silent. The birdsong echoed the rustle of the trees above and she found herself lost in the light noise.

“I’ll get you some appropriate attire,” he said, breaking the silence. “I know you’re not comfortable in dresses,” he said.

Synthalia nodded, “That’s not what you want to talk to me about it is?” she asked. She had the impression that something was weighing on his mind. He had mentioned it the previous evening but she had been too angry to focus on it.

“No,” he said. She watched him wring his hands together and gave him some time. When he spoke, she listened carefully. “You said you wanted to go home last night.”

“You told me it was impossible.”

“Yes and I want to tell you why. I wanted to tell you yesterday but I think you’d have thrown something far worse than a shoe at me if I had done so,” he said. Synthalia smirked at that, he had a good point after all He flicked blonde waves from his face and turned to look at her. “Your home doesn’t exist anymore Synthalia, it was destroyed in the raid in which you were captured.”

It was like being punched in the stomach. A tight knot formed in her gut and she felt the blood run from her face. She had been pale before, now she felt grey. Mephiston had carried on speaking but she no longer heard his words. Shakily, she raised her hand, gesturing for him to stop. “The castle. It’s gone?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

She shut her eyes and swallowed, her throat dry. Everything was gone. Her uncomfortable cot, her room with the crumbling wall, the broken artefacts and mouldering tapestries. It was a mess, it had been a disaster a lot of the time but it had been familiar and it had been home. Now she was homeless. Alone. “What about the rest of my kin?” she asked. Mephiston shook his head.

“I cannot say that all of them were killed,” he said, “There was an explosion which destroyed the castle, which we did not set,” he said.

She shook her head, “I know. There were measures…” She pinched the bridge of her nose and rested her elbows on her knees. Her black hair fell around her face and she sniffed. Tears swelled into her eyes and fell to the floor. Drawing in a shuddering breath, she wondered what she was going to do now. There would be no going back home, no one to greet her if she escaped. If they had survived, they would be long gone by now. Scattered to the wind to become renegades and mercenaries like the two others who had gone. Jago… He’d be… She could only hope that he was gone, that he had survived and ran off. One thing was certain, she knew she would never see him again. Likely she wouldn’t see any of them again.

Mephiston had fallen silent, what words could he say to her anyway? She didn’t want the comfort of the one who had destroyed her home. She did want answers, “Why me? Why bring me here and not kill me like the rest of my kin?” she sniffed. He handed her a scrap of fabric and she wiped her nose.

“We might not be on the same side, be we are not monsters,” he said, “You were unconscious but not wounded, I couldn’t leave you to be mauled by scavengers or taken by marauders. There was no option and I was in a rush,” he said.

“So you were thinking on your feet,” she said. There was an irony to that and she looked up. She knew her face was blotchy, her eyes red and puffy but she didn’t care. Mephiston nodded. “Are you sorry?”

“What?”

“Are you sorry for what you did?” she asked.

“No.”

Synthalia nodded, if he had been, she would have fought him again. She would have probably lost too. “I don’t hate you,” she said. “I just… Let me walk on my own. Follow if you have to but not next to me or anything. I just, I want some time alone.”

Mephiston got to his feet. “I understand. I know you won’t run,” he said. His voice was soft, as though a gentle caress and in that moment, she did hate him. He walked away and she watched him go. When he had gone, or rather when she could see him anymore, she let her tears flow and she sobbed into the red handkerchief that he had given her.


	8. Chapter 8

She wasn’t going away. As far as Artemesia was concerned, that was a problem. She stood in her apartment, Feda and Catarina occupied their usual places, but their embroidery was not in their hands. Their faces were on her, but their expressions were carefully neutral. The outcome of her discussion with Mephiston had not gone the way she had wanted it to, and since then she had spoken to her father Raldoron. That hadn’t gone her way either and so it seemed that for the time being, she would be stuck with woman.

“What did he say?” Feda asked, finally breaking the silence.

“He refused to over-rule Mephiston,” she said. “He said that perhaps I should help him even. Can you imagine?” Neither of the ladies answered. She crossed from the fireplace to the large window and peered out of it into the vibrant sunshine. “Now why are they out there?” she hummed after a moment. Gesturing to the other two, she encouraged them to join her.

“Looks like nothing but walking,” Catarina said. Artemesia narrowed her eyes and watched as her betrothed walked alongside the gutter-trash he had brought home. They weren’t overly close, nor did it look as though they were talking.

“It better be nothing else,” she said.

“I hardly think-“

“It’s just another reason to not like her,” Artemesia interrupted, as if she needed any more of those.

“You should do as your father suggested,” Feda said. The woman had moved away from the window and picked up her sewing.

“What?” Artemesia said, looking over her shoulder.

“It’s clearly important to Mephiston that he do this, maybe you should support him in his venture, like a good wife would do?” she said.

“So, I should make friends with her?” Artemesia asked. Feda gave a nod.

“The least you have to gain is Mephiston’s approval, you might make a new friend as well,” Feda said. Catarina moved away from the window, but Artemesia remained, watching the two below until they turned a corner and were out of sight. When she turned back to her women, her expression was thoughtful. What Feda had suggested would be a good idea; she would have to get over her dislike of the ill-mannered guest. She would have to apologise as well. Mephiston had said she had baited Synthalia the night before and he had not been wrong.

She sat down and pressed her lips together. “You’re right,” she said. Mephiston had been distant lately, even before Synthalia had shown up and this would be a good way of getting him to notice her again. She fiddled with her blonde hair, following this line through to the logical end. If she befriended Synthalia, then Mephiston would have no choice but to adore her. A smile crept onto her face. “I need to make an apology,” she said. Feda nodded.

“Do you need us to come with you?” she asked. Artemesia shook her head,

“No, I think I need to do this on my own. No one is going to accost me in the castle and I think this should come from just me,” she said. She got to her feet.

“Now?”

Artemesia nodded and headed for the door. She had made up her mind and there was no time like the present! Her walk through the hall was pleasant, and she realised that Synthalia has been placed in one of the nicer parts of the castle. She had a decent sized room which had a small bathroom attached. She pushed aside the thought that it would be cleaner than anything she had ever known before, she was going to apologise and offer a branch of peace. All of the assumptions she had made needed to be put aside.

When she reached the door, she drew in a deep breath before tapping on the door. There was no answer. She knocked again. Nothing.

Artemesia grabbed the handle and opened the door. The room was empty. Of course! She had been walking outside and hadn’t been returned yet. Well, she wasn’t about to wait out in the corridor like a serf, so she shut the door behind her and sat on one of the chairs. One the table was a book, at least Synthalia could read. It was a tattered volume which looked as though it held little of worth. It wouldn’t have been her choice. She picked it up none the less and opened it. Neat handwriting greeted her but she grew bored after the first page or so. It was on the use of the mind as a weapon. She had never had the gift and therefore had no interest in learning of it.

Getting to her feet, she crossed to the small bookshelf and scanned the titles. There were some good ones here, old stories she had enjoyed in the past, far more interesting than the dull recordings of a gifted individual. She was about to pick a volume up to read when the door opened. Artemesia jumped and spun around. “What are you doing here?” It was Synthalia, but not as Artemesia expected. The woman’s eyes were puffy and red, her skin blotchy and wet.

“I’m sorry,” she said straightening up. “I came to find you to apologise but you weren’t here.” She wrung her hands together and tried to project contrition to the other woman. “What’s happened?”

Synthalia walked into the room and plonked herself down in one of the chairs. She sniffed and wiped her nose with a red scrap of silk. “I don’t want to talk of it,” she said.

Artemesia walked over to the chair and sat opposite. “Fine,” she said. She paused, wondering what she should say. Their last meeting had been such a disaster that she couldn’t think what to say. Synthalia looked at her with those freakish black eyes and waited. She laced her fingers together and swallowed.

“Why did you come here?” she asked, “You made it clear you don’t want me around. If you came here to gloat, go ahead. I’ve no choice after all.”

“I didn’t come to gloat,” Artemesia said. “I came here to make amends for last night. My conduct was less than favourable and I do not like how it ended.” Synthalia looked at her, a small frown puckering her brow. “We should be friends, not make enemies of one another.”

“I see,” Synthalia said. She did nod however and that was a good sign.

“You look like you could use a friend.” Artemesia said. There was a sort of half smile at that, which was better than nothing. “I can help you find your place here, if you want.”

Synthalia nodded again. “I’ve a lot to learn,” she muttered. “But please, can you leave me be? I need to be alone at the moment.”

Artemesia opened her mouth to protest but realised that there was something wrong. If she didn’t want to talk then there was nothing she could do. She got up. “I’ll leave you then, perhaps we should meet when you’ve calmed and discuss this further.” Synthalia nodded again. Artemesia watched as a fresh wash of tears flowed down her face. She wanted to reach out to her, but was afraid of the reaction that might follow such an unlooked for gesture. She got to her feet and left the room, pleased with the small progress she felt she has made.


	9. Chapter 9

For Synthalia, the next few days passed in a blur. A lot of the time she was alone, which was fine by her. It gave her time to think about what she had lost and to deal with the sting of it. She mourned, she recalled her favourite times with her kin and put them to rest as best as she could. Of course, some of them might be alive but she had no way of knowing. Her private rites served her well however and although the loss would never fade, remembering them was not as painful as it was when she first learned of it.

She saw little of Mephiston, who she assumed was bust with business around the castle. Aware that she was only a small part of his duties, she realised he must be off doing other work. She had finished his work on the Gift and that was something she wanted to discuss with him, but there would be time for that when they met once again.

He had kept his promise and clothing that she was comfortable in arrived the day after he had walked with her in the garden. Nor had she been locked in the room again, so she had been able to stretch her legs and exercise when she felt like doing so. Much to the horror of some of the servants, who had been in charge of cleaning the mud she traipsed in. Her clothes hadn’t been much better after some of her ventures. The physical activity cleared her mind and let her rest.

She had seen Artemesia once more as well. After a run, she had bathed and dressed in the wide legged trousers she’d favoured before when the woman came to call on her. The conversation was strange and she quickly realised that she had nothing in common with the blonde haired woman. Where she had been used to a life of fighting and bickering, hardship and struggle, Artemesia had been waited on hand and foot. Synthalia also learned that she was Raldoron’s daughter and Mephistion was supposed to marry her in six months’ time. She was very proud of that, but she also seemed distant on the subject. The exchange had turned to Synthalia’s prospects, or what they had been. When she explained that she had never thought of it, though there had been no shortage of conquests, Artemesia had looked scandalised.

The woman had left and Synthalia had read one of the other tales on the shelf as per Artemesia’s recommendation. It was a dull tale of romance, but it filled the time. She wondered if the nonsensical thinking of the characters was where Artemesia got her ideas from.

Most of the time, she ate her meals in her room. Seclusion had not been her intention, but nor could she face going to the great hall. One the fourth day, along with her dinner, Mephiston turned up. His blonde waves were pulled back from his face in a neat warrior’s tail and the look of concern on his face partially melted the frosty feeling she had towards him. He had been responsible for the destruction of her home, but they had been at war. She pushed that aside and cleared space on the table for the food.

“Hello,” she said as she folded the book and placed it on the floor beside her. He placed the tray on the table and sank into the soft chair opposite her.

“I hope you’re well,” he said. The formality of his tone caught her out and she tilted her head a little. Had something happened? Of course it had! Something had to have done for him to speak so.

“I am,” she said. She moved her plate of hot meat and vegetables towards her and picked up the cutlery. When she was alone, she hadn’t bothered with them, instead she had stuffed the meat inside the hot bread and eaten while reading. This was different. He was here and she would at least pretend to be polite. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he said, doing the same.

“Then what’s wrong?” She cut up a piece of the meat and slipped it into her mouth.

Mephiston looked at her for a moment and she wondered what was going through his mind. If only she had the abilities he had spoken of in the book she had read. “I shouldn’t speak of it,” he said. She opened her mouth to speak but he shook his head, “The Death Guard are gnawing at our borders and it looks as though they mean to invade,” he said. “I have spent the last four days in talks with their emissaries and it has not gone well.”

Synthalia bristled. “We had our share of skirmishes with them,” she said after swallowing a piece of meat. “Ghastly manners of warfare. Tell me, was their speaker a short, wizened fellow with lank white hair?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Her eyes widened. “They use chemicals,” she said. “They’ll offer a truce with one hand while releasing chemical agents into your water with the other.”

“You speak from experience?” Mephiston asked. She nodded.

“Not from our clan, but an alliance with the World Eaters told us so. We refused to deal with them after we learned that. The disease they unleashed melted flesh from bone,” she said. Mephiston nodded.

“Talks have not been satisfactory,” he said. She watched him pick and fuss with the food before him but he didn’t eat anything. “I want to do more, but I don’t know what. I doubt their sincerity.”

“Tell me more?” she asked. It seemed that he needed to talk about this, and she was happy to listen.

“They want to annex some of our territory that borders theirs. We don’t use it for anything as its mostly marshland at the moment. There is a plan to drain it and use it for cultivating, but we haven’t agreed on how to do so yet. They have come to us with the means to do so but want to land. Raldoron thinks they are sincere and that they will share the produce, however I am not so sure,” he said. There was a pause and he ran a hand over his face. “We have been heated on this matter and cannot come to an agreement. They have done nothing to suggest that they plan anything untoward but I don’t like it.”

“What makes you think it?” Synthalia asked when he fell silent. He pushed some meat onto his fork and swallowed.

“Their colours are wrong.” She tilted her head. “They are lying and I can see it with my gift, but I cannot make Raldoron see it. He says that I am being paranoid and cannot equate the mistrust with them being liars. He says that they are probably nervous of our clan.”

“Tell him what I told you. The World Eater numbers were decimated with the disease they sent them. Surely he would be able to keep that in mind before decisions are made.”

Mephiston nodded and finally ate something. His chewing was mechanical, but when he spoke again he had relaxed his tone. “I will,” he said.

“They’ll invade, one way or another,” she said.

“I think so,” Mephiston agreed. She let him eat, falling silent and finishing her food as well. It made her feel better, and she asked a question that she had been wondering since he had begun speaking.

“Do you not bring these problems to Artemesia?” He coughed at her words and looked at her with amusement in his sharp red eyes.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes,” she said. “I know you’re engaged and surely you’d want to share these troubles with her?”

“She would panic and becoming weepy. She has no head for such thoughts, and I won’t burden her with them,” he said. Synthalia thought that odd. Jago had shared everything with her, they had thought through strategies, shared ideas and laughed over woes that never came to pass. Maybe the Blood Angels did things differently but from what she had seen, they were not as different as she might have believed a few days ago. She let the matter drop however, not wanting to kick up a fuss over something that wasn’t her business. “How did you know that?”

Synthalia blinked, “About Artemesia?” she asked. Mephiston nodded, “She told me. She’s determined to befriend me. Did you set her on to that?”

“No,” he said. There was a surprised look to his eyes and she dared to smile.

She detected no lie though, “I suppose she took that on herself then.”

“Unlikely, she doesn’t have ideas of her own.” Synthalia grinned.

“How can you say that about her, you’re going to marry her one day,” she said. Mephiston raised both eyebrows, red eyes widening in what she thought was fear, before he laughed. The sound was rich, hearty and she found she enjoyed the sound. She wouldn’t mind hearing that again and she found herself smiling again. He smiled back and she looked away, unsure.

He coughed and she looked up again. “I didn’t intend to come here and talk about our alliances, but I thank you for your insight,” he said.

“You’re welcome. My clan hated the Death Guard, it would be wrong of me to forget that.” She meant it too, she was beginning to understand that this was her home now and that wasn’t going to change. She did not want to be poisoned as the World Eaters had been.

Mephiston gathered up the finished with plates and put them back on the tray, “I’ve been remiss in my time with you over these past few days and for that I am sorry,” he said. “I want to do better, but I cannot promise.”

She nodded, “I can get out, I have comfortable clothing,” she said, “The only thing I can’t do is train with a weapon.”

“I can grant you access to the training weapons,” he said. “But I will ensure there are others there as well, you won’t train alone and you won’t have sharpened blades.”

Synthalia nodded her head. It was fair, frustrating but fair. It was also a first step and she could work on it. “That’s fine,” she said. She was a prisoner after all, though she was being treated far better than any of the prisoners her clan had taken. Mephiston got up and picked up the tray.

“I shall leave you,” he said.

“Before you go, do you have another book? I’ve got through your notes, and the stories here are too… mushy,” she said. Mephiston shot her another one of those smiles, one that caught his red eyes and lit them up.

“We can discuss the findings tomorrow evening, and I shall bring you some more books as well,” he said. Synthalia got up, a lop-sided grin on her face.

“Bring wine with you?” she suggested. The smile returned and he gave a nod.

“Until then,” he said, and with a swift gesture, he picked up the tray and left the room.


	10. Chapter 10

The following morning, Synthalia was awoken by a loud, sharp banging on the door. She had managed to sit up when the door flew open. Striding into the room was a short, blonde woman. Her arms were folded over her chest and she regarded Synthalia with a look that verged on contempt. “I thought you wanted to fight,” she said. Synthalia blinked. “Well?”

“Yes,” she stammered.

“Get up, get dressed, be ready in five minutes else I’m going to find Barney instead.” With that, she turned and stalked from the room. It was the kind of brusqueness Synthalia had dealt with on a day to day basis back home and so she followed the instruction without hesitation.

In four minutes, she was dressed, up and her hair was pulled back in a tight tail which would keep it out her way while they trained. She had put her boots on, the ones she had been captured in and was more than ready to spa with this woman. “Dagmar,” she said as she shut the door behind her.

“That’s more like it,” Dagmar said. “Come Synthalia, let’s see what you are made of!”

Synthalia liked her immediately. There was a curt, clipped air about her that brokered no nonsense, she’d had more than enough of girlish nonsense since she had arrived and looked forward to some plain-speaking, honest fun. At least she hoped it would be fun. Dagmar led her outside into the fresh air. It was sharp, took her breath away and woke her faster than any hot water could.

They were not in the formal gardens, they were on the other side of the castle. Here, there were training facilities. They were familiar and a smile touched her face. “Run first,” Dagmar said. There was no other warning, the short woman darted off faster than Synthalia would have thought possible. She barely came up to her shoulder, but there was no denying that she was quick. Synthalia jumped after her and soon fell in step. There was no talking, the pace was too quick for that.

The circuit Dagmar chose was through rough terrain and by the time they reached the finish, they were both breathing hard, sweating and spattered in mud. She was warm. She was ready. Water had been placed at the side of the training ground they’d commandeered and both of them drank deeply.

“I have no idea what weapons you’re trained with,” Dagmar said as she put her drink down.

“Anything I can get my hands on,” Synthalia replied, “But those sticks are shaped like swords and that is good enough.”

“I’ve heard that your clan are good at improvisation,” Dagmar said as she scooped up both the weapons, “Perhaps this lot could learn something from you. Posturing is all well and good but when you’re in the middle of a fight, sometimes you’ve got to think around corners.” She tossed one of the blades to Synthalia, who caught it easily.

“Finally!” she said, “Someone who gets it. Sometimes, a lump of rock in the right place is just what you need.” Dagmar nodded and gestured for her to take a place.

“Well, let’s fight then.”

Synthalia didn’t wait for a ready, that was not the way of her people. She just stepped to the side and swiped with the practice sword. It was well balanced for a practice weapon, slightly heavier than she was used to but it would do. Dagmar was every bit as quick as she; Synthalia only just brought the sword up to block a blow to her head. The reposte she made was turned aside and the side stepping began. They came together at the same time in a flurry of blows that were turned aside. The bout ended when Dagmar kicked her leg and whacked her on the shoulder.

“Like that is it?” Synthalia grinned as she moved back.

“Did you expect anything else?”

“Well, have you seen the company I’ve been keeping lately? It’s enough to make a girl fight fair.”

Dagmar laughed and nodded, ready to start again. Synthalia did not disappoint her.

***

The meeting had not gone to plan, and it had gone on for far too long as far as Mephiston was concerned. The Death Guard representatives had been deliberately obtuse and blocked his ideas. The ones that Synthalia had suggested had been rebuked, rethought and bounced around but no agreement had been made. They had reached midday and decided a break would clear the air and let frustrated minds clear. Raldoron and Gaius had ordered food brought but Mephiston needed some air before he could even think about eating.

Typhon and Barcu had been odious, Raldoron had refused to listen to the words of a Night Lord and his claims had been dismissed. The look of them hadn’t changed; they were hiding something, likely their invasion plans, but his warnings had fallen on deaf ears. Apparently seeing with the Gift was not enough to cast doubt on what was being said. Mephiston thought Raldoron was being naïve, but there was no way he would be able to point that out without causing further strife.

He had left the room and tried to leave his thoughts in there as well. A brisk walk around the castle would soothe his temper; it had begun to rain again some time during the morning and a steady stream of water fell from the sky.

Pausing at one of the windows, he flicked loose strands of blonde from his face and looked out at the grey. He was a soldier, not a politician. He had no idea how he was going to convince Raldoron, the leader of his clan, that what they were doing was a bad idea. His eyes caught sight of something interesting then, something he could understand.

Dagmar and Synthalia were down there, in the pouring rain, exchanging blows with the wooden swords. It looked as though they had been down there a while, but the blows were fierce. It looked like fun. He sighed. The way the women moved was graceful in some ways, savage in others. Both of them fought as he expected: dirty. They would never make duellists, but warriors, of that there was no doubt.

“Neither of them will make courtiers.” It was Artemesia who spoke. He looked over his shoulder and shuffled to the side to let her through. She looked out at them for a moment and shook her head. It was clear she didn’t approve of their activities.

“Perhaps not, but courtiers don’t retain territory, or maintain supply routes,” he said.

“We have plenty of warriors for that, male warriors.” Mephiston let her comment lie, he’d been arguing all morning, he did not want another one now. His gaze returned to the two women, his ward and his friend. How he wanted to be down there with them, and some of the others as well. Maybe some honest training would ease his mind and make him able to focus. “What is it?” Artemesia asked.

He paused a moment, thought about what Synthalia had said the night before. He should involve her with his thoughts, make her aware of what was going on and ask her insight. He turned to look at her, “Negotiations with the Death Guard is not going as I had hoped,” he said. “Ral and I haven’t agreed on what they are up to.”

Artemesia’s eyes widened a moment but a smile soon bloomed onto her face. “Father will have a plan in mind, I am sure he has things under control,” she said.

“But-“

“Mephiston, father is a skilled and careful negotiator and the leader of one of the most successful clans, he will have our best in mind throughout. Trust him,” she said. She made it clear that this was all that mattered and she would hear no more on the subject. Below them, Synthlia and Dagmar had finally finished with the swords and were laughing about something. Artemesia slipped her arm though his and patted his hand with the other. He pulled away.

“I have to go back,” he said.

“Will I see you later?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” He left her then, without another word. He had no desire to speak with her or try and tell her his thoughts, it was clear she did not want to hear them.


	11. Chapter 11

Mephistion was as good as his word. He brought wine with him. He also brought food and what she thought was sweets. Synthalia had not had sweets for a long time, the last ones had been stolen from an Ultramarines scouting party that happened to have a sweet tooth. “How was your day?” he asked as he placed all the items on the table. She had bathed and changed out of her muddy clothes when she had returned and spent the remainder of the afternoon reading the awful book Artemesia had left her.

“Dagmar is a wonderful woman,” she said looking up. “We fought for hours. It was what I needed after so long hanging about.”

“That she is.” Mephiston sat in the chair that she had come to regard as his and arranged the plates. “I’ve brought cold meat scrounged from the kitchen. It’s not amazing but it will be filling,” he said. She detected the apology in his voice and nodded.

“It’s going to be better than back at the clan,” she said without hesitation. “The food there was stale on the best days.” She took the plate he pushed towards her and made a sandwich out of the soft bread and the cold beef. It was delicious. Mephiston ate well too, which made a change from the previous evening.

“What was it like?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“Your clan, what was it like?”

“Oh,” she said, swallowing the last bite of sandwich, “Well. Vicious. We fought amongst ourselves more than anyone else. Bickering was common, stabbing less so, but it was not unknown. There was no real unity until we needed something, then we set out and took it.” She took another bite of sandwich before continuing, “Our lands were so small, and have been for as long as our records go back, that we never really worried about defending our borders. No one wanted the land in the dark anyway, it’s no good for growing anything except mushrooms, which are mostly poisonous.”

“How did you survive for so long?” he asked. A half smile touched her lips and she barked out a short laugh. It was bitter and she knew it.

“By being a warm ray of sunshine,” she smirked. Mephiston raised an eyebrow. “That’s part of it. Really. But, I can fight, I’ve a temper which warded off some and I’m not afraid to act either.”

“I’ve not noticed,” Mephiston said.

Synthalia laughed. “I once put a knife thought a man’s hand who got too touchy feely for my tastes. I also got friendly with the guy in charge.”

“Sevatar?” Synthalia nodded and popped the final bit of sandwich into her mouth, savouring the taste.

“He is a bastard,” she said, “But for all his flaws and lack of basic human emotion, he had the best for us at heart. He and I understood one another.” She fell silent, not really wanting to share those intimate moments with this man. Those were her memories and to speak them to another would be a violation in her eyes.

“He dictated raids?”

“Sort of, there was a voting system but it was a sham. If he thought it was a bad idea, we didn’t bother,” she said. “Fights about what we did were the most common but when Jago vetoed something, that was it. He was the one who could bring the more outspoken to heel and ensure we fought for the same thing.” Not knowing what had happened to him gave her the most trouble. She still missed him, though she would never admit that. The pang had faded to a dull ache and she knew the longer that she was here, the less she would feel it.

Mephiston had picked up the bottle of wine and she turned her attention to him as he pulled the cork from the bottle with a knife. He poured the deep, red liquid into two glasses and then set the half empty bottle on the floor. She took the one closest to her and picked it up. The scent of the liquid was rosy, heady and delicious. She sampled it. The dry taste flooded her mouth. “This is really good,” she said, looking up at Mephiston again.

“Did you think I would bring you bad wine?”

“I know nothing about wine,” she said. Mephiston smiled, flashing white teeth and she grinned back. “But I do know what vinegar tastes like and this isn’t it.”

Mephiston laughed. “If you’d prefer vinegar, I can have some brought up here,” he said.

“And let everyone know you’d prefer to take your evenings with me than in the great hall with your friends?” Synthalia said, raising an eyebrow, “Surely there would be scandal at that.”

“Perhaps,” Mephiston said.

She took another sip of the wine and watched him do the same. “So this Gift,” she said, “What does it do? What’s it like?” she asked. “I read your book but it doesn’t really tell me what you can do. How you see and what it means.”

“I can see auras,” he said, “So, what you feel translates into a colour around you. At the moment, yours is orange for curiosity, green shows me you are feeling satisfaction, whether that is from the food, the wine or your fight earlier is not shown. It’s strong so I think it is a combination of all three.” She watched him flick blonde hair from his head and a small flush touched his face.

“What?” she asked.

“And a mild touch of deep red, almost purple.”

“What does that mean?” She touched the edge of her glass to her lips and took a sip.

“I am unsure,” he said. She thought he was lying about that but made no issue of it. It was a small matter after all and she knew what she was feeling.

“So, what else?” she asked.

“I can read minds, I can put suggestions into people’s heads to make them do as I want them to, though that is hard to do and requires a subtle impression.”

Synthalia tilted her head to the side, “Alright, what am I thinking of right now?” she asked.

Mephiston narrowed his red eyes a fraction, “Tree,” he said.

“And now?”

“Knife.”

“And now?” Mephiston smirked and refilled her now empty glass. “I would have done that myself,” she said, but was pleased he had got the message. “I can’t send thoughts to you can I?” she asked.

He shook his head, “No, you do not have the Gift. And thought sending is difficult, even for those with it. The mind doesn’t think in language all the time and a message can become confused. I might want you to clear the table for example but it could come through as cloth, spray, plates, or even as a colour,” he said. Synthalia nodded as he spoke, intrigued by what he was saying.

“So you have to be very clear when suggesting,” she said. He nodded. “I had no idea. The Gift didn’t run through our clan and those that had it, well, they tended towards madness,” she said. She picked up the glass and swallowed half in one go.

“I should have brought another bottle,” Mephiston said. Heat pooled in her stomach and she felt it rise on her cheeks that was everything to do with the wine. She relaxed into the back of her chair and smiled. “Shall I fetch some more?”

“Sure, if you want to stay and get drunk with me. I won’t complain.” Mephiston stood up and gave a bow.

“I shall be back momentarily,” he said.

“I’ll be right here.”

Mephiston returned with more wine in less than five minutes. He wasn’t out of breath either. Synthalia looked up at him and grinned, “Quick.”

“It’s rude to keep a lady waiting,” he said as he pulled the cork on the second bottle.

“I’m no lady,” she said. She held her glass up however and he filled it with a returned smile. His followed and he sank back into the chair opposite. While he had gone, Synthalia had cleared the plates and put them onto the tray. That was now out of the way, leaving only the sweets in the centre of the table. She sipped the new wine, approving of the flavour. “What is this stuff?” she asked, gesturing to the delicately scented cubes on the plate.

“It is something the Thousand Sons are famed for.” Mephiston said. “Their confectioners make it, and it is sold to other clans, or brought to negotiation tables. We have an abundance of it and I thought it would be nice to share some.” Synthalia picked up one of the powdery cubes and popped it into her mouth. The soft, sugary jelly was as sweet as she imagined it to be. She swallowed. “Well?” he asked.

“You are spoiling me,” she said. She picked up another cube and looked over at him. “And I refuse to eat these alone.” She pushed the treat up to Mephiston’s mouth until he had no choice but to accept the cube. He did so and she picked up another one, eating that herself. Wine followed and she looked over to her companion. There was icing sugar on the tip of his nose and she laughed. “You have a little something there,” she said.

Mephiston brushed his nose and she laughed again. Heat surged through her and she sipped some more of the wine. He followed suit and picked up one of the cubes. “Your turn,” he said bringing it up to her lips. Synthalia was only too happy to accept the gift, taking it. Her lips touched the tip of his fingers and she smiled as he pushed down on her lip before taking his finger back.

She pushed black hair behind her ear and raised an eyebrow at him. Sitting forward, she picked up another cube and pressed it to his lips. He licked her fingers this time and a shock jolted through her.

“What colour do you see now?” she asked.

“Purple,” he said. “I am sure mine would be the same, if you could see it.”

“I don’t need it explaining what that means,” she said. She sipped the last of the wine and met the red eyes across the table. She placed the glass down and leaned forward. “I’m not immune to charm, to kindness, to a common interest either,” she said. Her cheeks felt flushed and warmth coursed through her as she held his gaze. He leaned across the table and touched her hand. Mephiston’s hand was as warm as she. Twisting she tilted her head a fraction. She could smell the wine on his breath, feel the delicate puffs of air on her face. His hair fell forward and it was as soft as it looked.

His other hand touched her face, as warm as the other. He pushed her hair back, her eyes searched his before flicking to the fine arch of his top lip and back again. She caught her lower lip in her teeth. He leaned further and pressed his lips against her cheek. “I want to,” he whispered, “But I cannot. We both know that.” Synthalia nodded, swallowing and find her throat dry. She gave his hand a squeeze. Was this part of that chivalry that his clan so often displayed, she supposed it was? It was as admirable as it was frustrating.

“I have to go,” he said before pulling away. She nodded and before she could say anything else, he was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

During the meeting the next day, Mephiston’s head span. He was sure it wasn’t all to do with the wine he had consumed last night, for he had gone on to drink another bottle and a half before falling into a stupefied sleep. He had regretted it the moment he had woken up and was continuing to do so. His temple pulsed with his heartbeat and the light seared his eyes. Dimly, he wondered if this was how Synthalia felt on a day to day basis, though he shoved her out his mind. It wouldn’t last, she would be back in a few moments if the last few hours were anything to go by.

He tried to focus but the headache kept him from doing so. Worse, his thoughts kept pouring over the night before. He couldn’t settle his mind or reconcile what had happened, or rather almost happened. He shouldn’t feel awful about it, nothing had taken place. He had-

“Mephiston?” Typhon asked.

He looked up and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Yes?”

  
“Are you well?” He nodded. “You seem elsewhere this morning.”

“I apologise, I am somewhat distracted,” he said.

“Perhaps we all need some time to dwell on these matters,” Barcu said. His voice was a wet rasp, and although he tried, Mephiston could not abide the sound of his voice. “We should suspend the talks until tomorrow, give us all some time to refocus.”

“A good idea,” Raldoron said. “This evening, we shall all dine together, no talk of what we are working on, but there is no reason we cannot enjoy one another’s company and speak of other matters,” he said.

Typhon nodded, “That is agreeable, I will bring some more of our people to meet yours, if we are to be allies, it makes sense to get to know each other.”

Mephiston was out the door the moment the talk turned small. His head was in no shape to make it. He needed cold air, craved it as though it was the most addictive drug. He headed outside. The moment the cold air hit his lungs, his stomach stopped bouncing around. Another lungful and he felt clearer. A walk around the formal grounds, avoiding the training facilities would be prudent as well. Mephiston wanted to think and seeing who he had to think about would not help.

What bothered him the most, he thought, as he walked through the rose garden, was that he had wanted to continue along the road they had started down the previous night. Never before had he contemplated breaking the promise he had made to Artemesia, or her father for that matter. There were plenty of reasons why he shouldn’t. The stability of the clan for one, he had never broken his word before for another, though he had come so close to doing so last night.

His hands bunched into fists as he thought about it. He knew he shouldn’t, but in that moment, he resented Artemesia. She knew nothing about him, he had tried, how he had tried, to get to know her, but she didn’t seem interested in what he had to say. She was dismissive of his interests and abilities. All she wanted to do was embroidery and cuddle. It had been nice to start with, but he needed more than that. He had known for a while but hadn’t really given it much thought. He had hoped that in time, she would come around to him but it seemed that she was content.

Synthalia’s drunken touch had alerted him to that.

It had started before that though hadn’t it. The Night Lord was coarse, unrefined and crude, but at least she was interested in learning. The moment she had calmed down, she had began reading. What book had she chosen? Not a story of romance and fiction, but the one he had written. And then she had asked him about it. More than once. Artemesia had never acknowledged that he had the Gift aside from when they had first made their promises.

If he could go back to the previous night, he knew he would do things differently. He desired the Night Lord, and he didn’t like that he did. He hoped that she was having as much of an issue with this as he was. He doubted that she was. He let out a breath and turned into the willow grove. A light rain began to mist down from the sky; he found that refreshing more than annoying.

There was not a great deal that he could do about the current situation. If he broke his promise to Artemesia, Raldoron would skin him alive. If he decided he was going to continue with Synthalia, that wasn’t fair either. He knew he had no choice, he had to go as he had been and deal with the fact that he was going to be with someone who was more interested in his name than who he was as a person. He hated that but he had no real choice. The alternatives were not choices at all.

He turned the corner and let his fists relax at his sides. Dante would know what to do. Unfortunately, his friend was on the other side of the continent assisting the Space Wolves with a conflict against the World Eaters. Dante had always known what was best and had never had trouble sharing his ideas either.

In front of him was Dagmar and Synthalia. Neither had seen him yet and he paused to watch them. They were running rather than fighting and it seemed as though they were laughing at a joke. Neither of them saw him and he wanted it to stay that way. His headache may have eased but his thoughts were still troubled. He didn’t want to deal with Synthalia just yet. He also knew that he would never be able to hide his attraction from Dagmar, that woman was terribly good at spotting them and then laughing about them too.

Turning away, he sucked in a breath and resolved that if he was going to keep his promise, he should go and see Artemesia. Maybe this time he would get her to see him and show some interest. He had to try, for his own sanity. When he got back inside, he realised he was soaked. His blonde hair clung to his face and his clothing stuck to his skin. He snorted, maybe he would have a bath first, the relaxation would chase away the last of his hangover and he would be ready to face both his betrothed and his guilt by then.


	13. Chapter 13

It was Dagmar who persuaded Synthalia that she should attend the dinner that evening. At first, she had refused. The memory of what had happened last time was too fresh in her memory. But, her newfound friend reminded her that she was not alone anymore. Dagmar was as quick tongued as Synthalia could be and it was this that won her around.

Together, they had dressed in something elegant but comfortable. There were no corsets involved, but she still felt her boobs looked good. Dagmar had said so too. She had decided to wear the flat shoes as well, higher ones made her feel as though she was going to topple over, and if the Death Guard tried anything, she wanted to be able to move quickly.

Dinner that night was not a formal sit-down dinner like it had been before. Food had been placed on long tables at the side of the Great Hall and plates were arranged for people to help themselves when they were hungry. The idea was for everyone to mingle and get to know one another. There was music, provided by the players within the Blood Angel’s clan and although it wasn’t what Synthalia was used to, she did find it quite pleasant. It wasn’t intrusive and allowed for conversation over the top. Not that she was really talking to anyone. She had picked up a glass of sparkling wine and was content to observe everyone from the side of the room.

The Death Guard stuck out wherever they went. Most of them were tall, thin and pallid to the point of sickness. She knew she was pale, but she didn’t have a greenish hue to her skin like they did. They mingled but there was something mechanical about it. It was clear none of them were truly at ease with moving amongst the Blood Angels. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she didn’t need to. It would be perfunctory nods, agreements that were insincere and flattery that was as pointless as the fruit in the drink.

“Not enjoying the party?” Synthalia looked up and shrugged.

“Quite the opposite,” she said, gesturing for Dagmar to come a little closer. She had a plate of nibbles and the Night Lord was not above stealing some of them while she explained what she saw. Dagmar did so, and she swiped a small sausage. “Watching how people interact is as good as interacting yourself. Besides, here I can’t be shown up again like the last time I was in here.”

“White tits huh?”

“You heard about that?” Dagmar nodded, “Yeah, that. Anyway, watch the Death Guard and see how they interact,” she said. The frown that blackened Dagmar’s face made her pause, “You don’t like them?”

“No,” Dagmar spat, “They are responsible for the death of all my people. Ever wonder what I was doing here? They,” she gestured towards the other clan, “Destroyed the land by unleashing a radioactive virus. It killed everything that grew there and then it moved on to the people. I lived because I was lucky and I got out before the sickness could destroy my cardiovascular system. I spent a long time puking blood and I’m pretty sure there’s long term damage I don’t know anything about. They killed everyone I know, dislike doesn’t come close,” she said.

“Have you spoke to Raldoron about that?” Dagmar shook her head, “He needs to know about it.”

“Everyone knows what happened to the people of the Kreig Province,” she said. Synthalia nodded, Dagmar had a point after all. They fell silent and watched the Death Guard move among the Blood Angels. It didn’t take long for Dagmar to see what she had. “It’s all an act.”

“But a good one to watch,” she said.

“We can’t let them do to this clan what they did to me,” she said. The worry in Dagmar’s face bored into Synthalia, and she nodded.

“We have to make them listen,” she said, jerking her head towards Raldoron, Gaius and some of the other Blood Angels. “I don’t know how yet.” Dagmar nodded. The subject was dropped when Artemesia spotted them and made a beeline to where they were standing. Her hair was done in ringlets that bobbed and shone in the light as she moved. Her skin appeared to sparkle and her blue eyes practically danced. She moved with grace in the high shoes she wore; it made Synthalia feel trollish by comparison.

“Friends,” she beamed. The glass in her hand was obviously not her first, if the wide smile was anything to go by. Synthalia gave a tight-lipped smile. “Have you spoken to anyone but each other?” she asked.

“After my last venture here?” Synthalia said. Artemesia flushed a little before giving a slight shrug.

“Well, you should meet some of our guests, they are most delightful,” she said. Artemesia’s hand crept to a rather lovely looking trinket around her neck. It appeared to be made of silver, and a deep green stone was set into it. “You shouldn’t hide in the shadows all evening, it’s most rude,” she said.

“Is that not what I am made for? Rudely hiding in the shadows?” Synthalia said. Beside her, Dagmar laughed.

“Don’t be awful Synthalia,” Artemesia said. “Socialise, they are not that bad.” She didn’t give them the opportunity to reply, she simply moved away back into the light. Dagmar shook her head.

“The day that woman thinks for herself, I will eat dirt,” she said under her breath. This time, it was Synthalia who laughed. The sound stopped abruptly when two of the guests walked over to them. She was not sure who was worse, them or Artemesia.

Typhon was a bony, hard faced fellow with little in the way of hair, or any other attractive features. His gait was strong however, and his low voice was clear. Unlike his companion, who spoke as though he had some phlegm stuck in his throat. His cough did nothing to dislodge whatever it was. She supposed that must be Barcu, or one of the other visitors that had been permitted to join this little gathering.

“You are not native here,” Typhon said.

“Go fuck yourself,” she snapped. Typhon blinked. Dagmar just glared.

“Here, and I thought they were trying to civilise you, I had heard they were succeeding,” Typhon replied. Synthalia folded her arms over her chest and looked at the two of them.

“You look like something I stepped in,” Dagmar said.

“I suggest you fuck off,” Synthalia said, “You’re spoiling the air with your presence.”

“And what will Raldoron say when he learns of your terrible manners?” Barcu said.

“Raldoron does not own me, he is not the boss of me. He knows what I am, he’ll not be surprised,” Synthalia said. “Now, get out of the way, I need more fizzy booze to wash away the taste of you.” She didn’t wait for a response, just barged between the two of them and headed to the table where the drink was being kept. Dagmar followed quickly behind her. When she was there, she grabbed a glass and drained half of it in one go. “I am going to get into trouble for that I am sure,” she said.

Dagmar gave a nod, “But worth it.” She had also picked up a wineglass. She was about to drink it when the large form of Barney entered the room. Her smile was a picture and she clapped Synthalia on the arm. “I am going to go and escape with that man,” she said, “I’ve had quite enough of this.”

Dagmar drained the glass and placed it back on the table before striding over to Barney. She didn’t run, her walk was confident and purposeful. Barney spotted her, but waiting until she was next to him before scooping her into a huge hug. A few words were exchanged, and the two turned away and left the hall. Synthalia let out a held breath and finished the rest of her wine. She wondered if it would be acceptable for her to leave yet. She’d been there for a while and everyone else seemed to be busy.

She was about to make her exit when her glass was plucked from her hands, Turning, she looked up into the red eyes of her captor. She smiled, though she felt sheepish. “I might have upset your guests,” she said.

“They are not my guests,” he said. “The wine is cheap and the company terrible.” He shook his head.

“I was just leaving, that’ll make the company better I am sure.”

He opened his mouth to protest but caught her smile before shaking his head, “Terrible!” he said again.

“I really was just leaving,” she said.

“A shame, now I will have to dance with someone else and I was hoping to take a couple of turns around the floor with you,” he said. He gestured with his hand to the dancefloor. Synthalia balked.

“I will only tread on your feet and make an embarrassment of myself,” she said.

“Nonsense,” he said taking her hand and placing it on his arm. “Just follow my lead and you’ll do fine.” It seemed as though she had no further say in the matter, but she didn’t protest either. When they reached the edge of the floor, Mephiston placed his hand on her waist. He took her other and slowly, they began to move around the large space. It didn’t take long for her to realise that the steps were easy, and she picked it up relatively swiftly. The music had a slow tempo, which helped and before long, she was able to follow. Not once did she step on his feet.

She moved a little closer to him, so she was able to speak. That she could feel his warmth as well was just an added bonus. “So, what do you really want?”

“Maybe I wanted to hold you close in a room full of people,” he said. She shot him a look that would have withered the toughest of roses in the garden. He sighed, “Fine. I wanted to know if you learned anything this evening,” he said.

“And it took us stepping about like prancing goats to do so?”

“And the other reason,” he said. She smiled then.

“I tease. Dagmar has had personal experience with the Death Guard clan, similar to that of the World Eaters. You should speak to her about it,” she said. Mephiston nodded and turned them around to the beat of the song. “They are buttering up key people, but its not sincere, their body language is all wrong,” she said. She stepped with him and let the music flow through her. It actually felt really good and she moved against him. It was closer than most of the other couples, but she cared not for that.

“I agree,” he said. “Their words ring hollow and their colours are wrong.”

“We need proof,” she said. “We need to show that everything is not as it should be.” Mephiston nodded again.

“I’ll think of something,” he said.

“We will,” she said. He gave her a look that said it wasn’t her problem and she bit back a laugh, “It is my problem, what would happen to me if this place fell?” He conceded the point and she nudged her hip to his as they moved. No more talk followed for a while. His hand tightened on her waist and the pace slowed further. Resting her head on his shoulder, she breathed in the scent that must be just him. She didn’t let her eyes close, though she did relax. The soft ends of his hair touched her face and a smile tugged at her. She had never done anything like this before and she found it very agreeable.

It was only when she saw Artemesia’s furious gaze that she lifted her head. Synthalia swallowed, and she knew that she had attracted more trouble without trying. The tune wound to a close both of the pulled away from one another, she knew she was not imagining the reluctance either. “I should go,” she said.

“Allow me to escort you back,” he said.

She shook her head, “No, I’m quite capable.” He began to protest and she shook her head again, “See to your friends and guests, we can talk another time,” she said. Synthalia did not allow for more conversation, she turned and almost ran from the Grand Hall.


	14. Chapter 14

Artemesia was furious. Synthalia had abandoned the party the moment she had seen them together, which was a sure sign of her guilt. Instead of causing a scene, which would have upset her father, she had continued to entertain the guests as she had been instructed to. Her head wasn’t entirely focused, but she managed. That was something she was proud of. She had been able to remain focused when she had seen her future husband practically cuddling up to one of the most odious individuals who lived in the castle. Her father would hear about this, of that there was no doubt.

By the time the evening drew to a close, she was ready to evaporate into her rooms and think about what she was going to do. She was led back to her rooms by her women, rather than wait for Mephiston; he had disappeared without a word to her a half hour before and that was good. She was sure she would have screamed at him if he had come over and tried to talk to her.

Just as she was settling down, there was a knock on the door. Feda answered it, and Artemesia was surprised to see her father enter the room. The two ladies inclined their heads and left, as they always did when she was visited by the master of the clan. He entered the room and took his usual seat in the wingchair, opposite where she sat. She waited expectantly for him to speak.

“Tell me what ails you,” he said without preamble. That had always been his way. He was a kind, caring man but sometimes he tended to be a little abrupt.

“I don’t-“

“Balderdash!” he said, cutting her off. Artemesia looked down at her hands and sighed. “Out with it.”

“It’s Mephiston,” she said.

“What about him?”

“He has been acting so cold recently,” she said. Raldoron raised his eyebrows, urging her to continue. “He hardly visits me anymore and when he does, we barely talk. Tonight, I saw him dancing with Synthalia, but he ignored me completely.” She felt so stupid saying it like that, was she so upset because she was ignored? She thought it more than that but when she voiced it, it sounded petty.

“You did your duty as he did his,” Raldoron said, “Did you not attract the attention of the Death Guard and keep them entertained this evening? Perhaps you were too busy for him to get to you.”

“So it’s my fault he decided to dance with another?” She folded her arms over her chest and looked at the floor.

Raldoron shook his head, “No, let me deal with Mephiston. You speak with Synthalia, I am sure she will listen to a reasonable voice.”

Artemesia was not sure she would be reasonable with the other woman, how dare she think she would get away with it. She could see her sharp features now, sneering and looking down that long nose of hers as though she was something odious. Maybe she should look in a mirror some time. “Fine,” she said, aware that her father was waiting for a response so he could leave.

“Not now, wait until morning,” he said. She nodded, planning on ignoring that as soon as he had left. He did just that, after a goodbye and a pat on the shoulder. Her women returned but she dismissed them with a wave, she had no need of them this evening and she didn’t want them watching her every move. Especially as she planned to pay a visit to the Night Lord in a few minutes.

She waited ten minutes, that way she would be sure no one would be around to see her. Except perhaps some of the servants, who would be cleaning the Great Hall. She opened the door and peeked out. It was as she suspected. Her stride never faltered, and as she reached Synthalia’s room, so her blood heated. She had so much to say to her, none of it decent.

Artemesia didn’t bother to knock, she flung the door open and barged in. The room was dimly lit, but that was nothing new. Her eyes canted around the room until they found the object of her ire. She was sitting up in bed, a sheet clutched around her chest. “You could have waited until morning,” Synthalia said.

“No I couldn’t,” she snapped. “We need to talk, and we need to do so now! What do you think you are doing?”

“I was trying to sleep,” Synthalia replied. Artemesia was not amused.

“With Mephiston!” She snapped without thought. Synthalia’s gaze hardened.

“It was just a dance,” she said. The condescension had gone from her tone now, and it seemed Artemesia had her full attention for a change.

“It didn’t look like it. You were so close and you leaned on his shoulder! Only those who are intimate act like that,” she barked. She folded her arms over her chest and looked down at her. “And don’t tell me you didn’t know that. You’re not a savage anymore!”

“I didn’t know,” Synthalia said.

“Don’t lie! You want him for yourself!” Artemesia sucked in a deep gust of air and let it out slowly, trying to calm the urge to just shriek her accusations and storm off. She was better than that! She was not her mother!

Synthalia had let the sheet drop and was regarding her with an intensity she had never seen before. “It’s clear to me that you’ve not spoken to Mephiston about this. He was the one who asked me to dance, he was the one who wanted me there.”

“That’s not true!” she snapped, again without thinking. This was not going how she wanted it to. She wanted to yell at the woman to leave her man alone and that was that. “He is my betrothed, he wants me! Not you! Me.”

“Do you know what this is?” Synthalia asked. She held up the red book. Artemesia sneered when she looked at it.

“What has that got to do with anything?” she said.

Synthalia smirked. Artemesia wanted to slap that expression off her face. “Humour me.”

“It’s that silly log on the Gift, meaningless babble,” she said, “I told you that before!”

“You don’t know who wrote it do you?” Synthalia said. Artemesia shook her head. “This was written by Mephiston, the man you claim to know and love so well.” Artemesia felt the colour drain from her face. How many times had she derided those who claimed to have the Gift? Mephiston surely knew how she felt about that talent, and yet… he had written that, and not mentioned it when she had been voicing her opinions on it. That meant that… It was like being punched in the gut. Her stomach clenched and once more she felt foolish in front of one who shouldn’t be here in the first place. “Nothing is going on between Mephiston and I, except a growing friendship. We share some common interests, nothing more.” Artemesia couldn’t help think that this was a lie. She had seen how close they were, and now it seemed that they were able to talk about things that she had no understanding of. Or interest in for that matter; she would never pick up a weapon, she wasn’t about to go running around the grounds and she damned well wasn’t going to learn about the Gift either. It was abominable to even think it.

“I don’t believe you,” she snorted. Synthalia shrugged as if this was not her problem. “Stay away from him!” she demanded. “Or else!”

“Or else what?” the other woman snapped. There was a small flush on her cheeks now, a practical colour change on her pale features.

Something occurred to Artemesia then and she rounded on Synthalia, “He killed them you know. All of them!”

“What?”

“Your clan!” She crossed over to the fireplace and leaned on the mantel, “He is the reason they are all dead, that one in particular, with the smart mouth and the scars. He told me about it before you woke up. Do you know what he did? He tore the mortar apart that held the stone together. The castle collapsed on them all. You are trying to court the man responsible for the death of everyone in your clan!” By the end, her voice was little more than a hissing rasp.

“You lie!” Synthalia spat. She had got out the bed and was striding over to where she stood. “He told me-“

“That he didn’t kill them? What did you expect happened? Have you bothered to ask how the fight went after you were taken out? Or did you just accept that it happened and move on? And I thought you cared for them.” Artemesia watched Synthalia’s face drain to a ghastly colour and then turn a vivid red. Her face contorted. The sound that erupted from her mouth was guttural and rather more like an animal than a human. Artemesia knew she had done enough, she ducked out the room and slammed the door. The sound of something hitting it echoed after her as she scampered up the corridor. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she had made her message clear. Hopefully, Synthalia would go back to hating Mephiston and everything would go back to how it should be.


	15. Chapter 15

Fury tore through Synthalia. How could he have lied to her like that? Mephiston had said that he hadn't killed Sevatar, but he had. Artemesia’s words had stung far more than any insult she could have thrown at her. The insinuation that she didn't care about her former clan had cut to the bone. Was it as far from the truth as she wanted it to be? She hadn't enquired about how it happened, she hadn’t asked the questions, or even thought about them. She hadn't even bothered to go looking for them, just accepted what she had been told. Synthalia wrapped her arms around her chest and wondered who was really at fault.

She had to have those answers. But not now. It was late and while she might not be able to sleep, she wouldn't deprive others of that rest. She was not going to barge into someone's room late at night and demand of them! She might be angry, but she was not spoilt!

Instead, she picked up one of the books and pretended to read it. It was terrible, and her mind kept drifting to what Artemesia had said. She longed to see her former clan mates again. They were rough, but they were familiar and they had cared for one another in their own way. There had been more laughter among her people, there seemed to be little in the way of camaraderie between the Blood Angels, as if laughter had fled the walls leaving it a cold grave.

Had there ever been laughter in this castle? She thought there had, but it had been driven off and replaced with melancholy. Barney was different, he knew laughter and fun, as was Dagmar. She missed Var Jahan’s way of making her smile in the blackest of situations. Right now, he would have known what to say to lift her spirits. Synthalia pinched the bridge of her nose and sniffed. The ache of them being gone weighed heavily on her, and she wiped her eyes. Sleep would be a long time coming.

She sought Mephiston out the next day. Synthalia had dried her tears, reigned in her anger and decided she would try and be reasonable. He was fighting, and at any other time, she might have admired the way in which he did so. Slick, rapid movements battered and crashed against a training dummy, that looked as though it was taking the brunt of his frustrations. She had never seen his face so caught in emotion. Taking up one of the swords, she stepped in and blocked his next blow. The harsh clang echoed around the courtyard. Hard red eyes met hers without a hint of mercy.

“We have to talk,” she said.

He ran the edge of his blade against hers, the look in his eyes never softening. A frown touched her brow. She had not come here to fight, but it looked like he had other ideas. She saw the blow and raised the sword, blocking it with another clang. The flurry of blows the followed were fast, relentless and kept her on the defensive. He was strong, and the power behind those blows was extensive; he wasn’t pulling them. 

Synthalia stepped back, giving herself some room to work with. He stepped into it, but the time allowed her to strike a blow at his head. It was parried easily and followed by another that she barely blocked with her sword. It glanced away. There was finesse to his movements, a grace that her clan rarely achieved. He was so fast. The moment she found the rhythm of his blows, he changed it. For every one stroke she made, she blocked three.

The bout ended when she blocked his first blow, but the second bit into her left forearm; she had not been fast enough to bring her sword up and turn it aside. She yelped and dodged away, putting distance between them. Glancing at the wound, she saw fresh blood flow from the cut. It wasn’t overly deep, but the blade was sharp. At least it was a clean wound.

“Are you trying to hurt me?” she asked.

“Killing you would solve several problems,” he said. His tone was cold.

“Maybe you should have left me to die then! Crushed me under the castle like you did the rest of my clan!”

That made him pause. “Who told you that?”

“Your woman,” she sneered, “Late last night, when she barged into my room and demanded I stopped talking to you.”

“She did what?” Mephiston shook his head, exasperation clear on his face. 

“She told me as well, that you crushed my clan, destroyed the castle and brought it down on them.” She put down her sword and folded her arms over her chest, looking at him with all the accusation she could find. “You told me you didn’t kill them! Why did you lie to me?”

Mephiston threw his sword across the field and let out a vicious roar. Synthalia waited. “I didn’t lie to you,” he said when he turned to her again. “They were in the cellar, underneath the castle.” Sythalia blinked.

“The cellar?”

“Do you think me so heartless that I would kill all of your clan and save only you? Do you think so little of me?” he asked. Now it was her turn to pause, this was not how it should go! She shook her head.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” she said. The misery of her words surprised her and she bit back a sob that threatened to bubble to the surface again. “They were my home and…” she trailed off and let her arms drop.

“Carry on,” Mephiston said.

“You destroyed that. The worst part of the damned thing is I don’t even hate you for it. You’ve been kinder to me than most of them were. I even… fuck it, I don’t really know what I feel but just as I think everything is figured out, I get that bitch storming in my room. Telling me I have no place here, poisoning and trying to destroy the small solace I have. How the fuck did someone like that manage to become entangled with you? She doesn’t know anything about you!” Synthalia stopped when she realised what had flown from her mouth and looked away. “That’s not my place to ask,” she muttered and shook her head.

A cold hand touched her arm and she flinched. Had he always been that cold? He ran a thumb up over the slash in her arm, “I am sorry for the cut,” he said. He placed the blood soaked thumb in his mouth and hummed. Synthalia frowned. “You are right. We do need to talk. But not out here and not with anger in our hearts.”

“Don’t walk away!” she snapped.

Mephiston shook his head. “I need to excuse myself from the meeting with our guests,” the word expressed his true derision of them, “Meet me in the library in an hour. I will explain what happened then.” She nodded.

He gave her a slight bow and then walked away, leaving her wondering what it was he had to tell her.


	16. Chapter 16

Synthalia was already in the library when he got there. She had claimed one of the quiet spots near the fire; something for which he was very glad of. What he had to say to her was not for just anyone to hear, and after the conversation he had just had with his mentor, he would be glad for the seclusion. It wasn't like Raldoron to be so single minded but with the Death Guard on his mind, Mephiston wasn't surprised. The growing unease in his mind had not receded, and he felt the first breath of change begin to stir. He just couldn't see what direction it would take.

She was dressed in fatigues and a dark blue top, her long hair held back in a simple tail. Dark eyes looked up at him, they reflected the light of the fire and he reminded himself why he was here. The sound of her book shutting greeted him as he slid into the seat opposite her. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. She looked at him in the same way he looked at her. Consumptive, hungry even. He did not shake his head, but he pushed the notion away.

“Start at the beginning,” she said. The curt tone of her anger had fled, now she just sounded expectant.

“It began four years ago,” he said after a pause. “I have always been Gifted, and that enabled me to fight quicker than my clan mates. Anticipating moves and using it to beat opponents was easy. On the field of battle, I was unmatched. That all changed when we fought against the Iron Warriors.”

“Experts on destruction of structures,” Synthalia said. Mephiston nodded.

“They are. We had been at war with them for a time. The last battle I remember was the one that altered me. I was caught in a trap along with two of my companions, Julius and Miles. They bombarded the three of us while we were setting some charges. I remember shielding the three of us, getting them to escape. While they did, I was buried. I don't remember much of the time while I was buried, but I do remember the strain. I remember the weight pressing in on me and above all, I remember failing. When I was pulled out, I had held the shield up for fourteen days. I remember conversations, the Black of the grave and then erupting from the darkness.

“I returned to my clan on foot, the battle had long been over. I knew I had changed but the adjustment took a while to be completed. I was stronger in the Gift, but I was colder, different, altered. I was unable to get warm, that was the first sign. Then followed the Thirst.” He paused and looked at Synthalia, who slimy nodded for him to go on. “All I thought about was blood. At first, I ignored it but the need became too great for me to resist. It fuels the power within, grants me some semblance of who I was. I don't fully comprehend what happened even now, but I know I would fade without it.”

When he looked at her, she didn’t seem bothered by that information. “You are not upset by that?”

“I once skinned a child and ate his remains, the screams made his clan capitulate. I am a Night Lord Mephiston, don't forget that,” she said without remorse.

He smiled, though it was a wan thing, “Right.”

“So you get your power from drinking blood, so what? What does that have to do with Artemesia?” She returned to the issue that had caused this whole situation without preamble as he appreciated her for that.

“I am known as the Lord of Death, and Artemesia thought that was interesting. If you think her spoilt ways are bad, you should have seen her mother.” Synthalia snorted, “She was named Illythia, and she wed Raldoron to cement an alliance between her clan, the Emperor’s Children, and us. Artemesia, I suspect, went through her mother who persuaded Ral that our union would be a good idea. I resisted but Raldoron had been instrumental in ensuring I lived, and it was the only way I could think to pay him back. It was harmless to begin with, but the longer we continued to talk, the more she realised I was not what she thought I was. I'm not the same as Ral, I cannot be led around by a spoilt child.”

Synthalia nodded, “But breaking it off would destroy Raldoron’s wishes.” 

“So you see the difficulty this presents,” he said. She leaned over and touched his hand. Her fingers were calloused, but the heat in them scoured up his arm. He could feel her pulse, and the taste of her blood echoed in his mind; sweet and sour at the same time. His hearts had thundered with it, he had wanted so much more. He wrapped his fingers around hers, craving the warmth.

“And my clan, tell me the truth, please.” The pleading in her voice wasn’t necessary, he would have told her regardless. 

“The Night Lords, as a clan, were an affront to decency,” he said. She gave him a flat look, “Your methods of warfare were vile Synthalia. The messages and what you left behind were an abomination and it had to be stopped.” She made no protest to the point, maybe she already knew that on some level! “I’m not going into the background in detail, it’s done now. We were nominated to be the ones to put a stop to your ways and so we did. That last battle was supposed to teach your clan a lesson though, not destroy you completely.” He paused and made sure that had gotten into her head before he continued.

“Some of you came out to meet us head on, I believe you were one of them.”

“That’s right. Most of us were up for a fight, but some elected to remain behind in case you got in and raided the place. We were supposed to be a distraction but, there were far more of you than we anticipated,” she said. “It ended for me when I was knocked on the head and presumably left for dead.”

“I was forced to destroy the castle when something started to happen to it. A purple mist began threading through the foundations. I still don’t know what that was but it was wrong. My Gift let me see that so I used it to pull the mortar apart. The stones fell and the mist dissipated. Most of your people were in the basement, but whatever was causing that mist died,” he said.

“And me?” she asked.

“I found you on a walk of the perimeter and noticed you were still alive. I took you back to us partly as an experiment to see if you can learn different ways and,” he paused. She waited. “Because I wanted to make sure at least one Night Lord was left alive.” He gave her fingers a squeeze, needing her to believe that. She looked at him, her dark eyes blank. Mephiston swallowed.

“And, how is that going for you?” she asked, “Any regrets?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “I would not change anything I did, and that includes bringing you here.”

She gave a snort of disbelief. The fire popped and the light on the wall flickered and danced. “Your life would have been easier if you had left me out there to die,” she said.

“Maybe,” he conceded, “But eventually the differences between Artemesia and myself would have made themselves known. You being here has just made it happen sooner.”

“What are you going to do about it?” she asked. She looked as if she was about to say something else, but she closed her mouth instead and looked at him expectantly instead.

“I don’t know,” he said, and in the saying of it felt utterly miserable. “I don’t want to let Raldoron down, or hurt Artemesia but nor do I want to spend the rest of my days with someone who likes the idea of me, rather than who I am,” he said. He was surprised again when she wrapped her fingers around his palm and squeezed. She looked at him in a way Artemesia never had. A way that made his mouth go dry and his stomach jitter. He pressed his lips together. Dark eyes ravished his face, though she made no move. It would be all too easy to just lean forward.

He didn’t. “Talk to her,” she said.

“What?”

“Talk to her, like you have done to me. Tell her your needs and what it means to be who you are. Then see if she wants you around still.” Her thumb ran over the back of his hand, a shiver crept up his spine, delicious and slow.

“That’s not going to be easy,” he said, and he knew how she would react to his words.

“Of course not, but someone is going to get hurt one way or another and I’d rather it not be you,” she said. 

“I need to think about all this,” he said. She nodded, gave his hand a final squeeze before letting it go. “But, you have given good advice and I thank you for it.” Synthalia slid out of the seat, lithe and graceful in a predatory fashion. She leaned over and for a moment, Mephiston thought she might kiss his mouth. Instead, she brushed her lips over his cold cheek, then took a cheeky nip at his ear. Heat surged through him but before he could respond, she had straightened up again. “That was unfair,” he said.

“Of course it is, did you not wipe out my people for being needlessly cruel?” she asked, “Did you think I was any different?” She left then without another word. He blinked after her, but did not follow, he had far too much to think about to contemplate doing so. Part of him wanted to though, very much so.


	17. Chapter 17

Artemesia very much looked forward to Mephiston’s visit that afternoon. The morning had come all too soon, and with it nausea. She had managed to sleep, despite the anger she had felt, and she had thought it had been decent rest. Only, when she sat up, her stomach had protested and her head pounded. With a groan, she had fallen back onto the soft bed and shut her eyes again.

The second time she had woken, she had been a little better. Getting up had been easier and a hot shower had washed away the last of the queasiness. The headache had returned by the time she had dressed and although she had tried to eat, the smell of the food put her off. She picked at the toast but found it ashen in her mouth.

“You look paler than usual,” Feda said. The woman picked up her barely touched plate.

“I shall be fine, overwrought from yesterday no doubt,” Artemesia said. She had dismissed her and decided that she would spend the day reading and relaxing. She wanted to be her very best when Mephison arrived. By now, her father would have spoken to him, as she had done to Synthalia, and everything would be back to how it should be. Mephiston would return to doting on her and there would be no Night Lord woman hanging around either.

Artemesia remained in the chair by the window reading. Her headache had receded thanks to the fresh air from the open window, and the peace without her ladies buzzing around her was pleasant in a way she had never thought possible before.

When there was a knock on the door, she answered it herself. Mephiston was there, though the smile she expected was absent. Stepping back, she let him in. He sat opposite her, she looked at him, waiting.

When he didn’t speak, she tilted her head a little. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I don’t know where to start,” he said.

“Mephiston?” she asked, “You’re scaring me.”

“I need to tell you a lot of things, some of them are going to scare you,” he said. A cold shiver ran through her, but she would hear what he had to say.

“Is it about the Gift?” She knew he had it but they’d never addressed that in the past. Maybe something had changed and he had to tell her about that. He nodded.

“In part,” he said. She pressed her lips together. Artemesia had never liked that he was able to do things with his mind, it made her nervous, despite having nothing to hide. “There is more to it than that and if we are going to be together. You need to know the truth of it.” Her heart should have leapt to hear him suggest that, it did not. In the books she was so fond of, she often read how women's hearts soared when they heard their love say they wanted such things. Hers never did, nor did her stomach flutter or her legs go weak. Maybe they were just foolish ideas in fiction that didn't happen in the real world. “Tell me Artemesia, what is it about me that you found so desirable in the first place?” he asked.

She was taken aback by his question. Had he not seen himself lately? High cheekbones, flowing waves of blonde hair, and the physique of an ancient god. He was like looking at a painting. “You are the Lord of Death, you’re beautiful,” she said.

“Do you know what that title means?” he asked. She brushed a lock of fallen hair from her face and fought back the stab in her gut. “Are you alright?” Mephiston asked.

“Fine, tell me what it means,” she said, wanting him to speak.

“You know of the accident?” She nodded a confirmation, though the motion set her head throbbing again. “I came back changed. I've always had the gift but whatever it was that happened, and I do not remember what, altered me on a fundamental level.”

“What does that mean?” She wanted to know, or thought she did. Why couldn't someone as lovely as him just be normal? She coughed and her stomach lurched again.

“I do not have the needs of others, I need to.” He stopped. She thought he asked her something but she couldn't hear what he said. The world wouldn't stop revolving. She tried to stand. Strong arms, cold as the grave, caught her and lifted her up. The thought she might be sick. Colours danced before her eyes. Shutting them didn't help, it made the dizziness intensify. She fought them open again, “Artemesia?” Mephiston’s resonant voice was the last thing she heard before darkness took her.

When she awoke, she saw someone she did not expect to see. She was in her bed, felt hotter than a furnace and her head throbbed. The cold, hard blue eyes of Dagmar regarded her with a critical look. Feda hovered nearby but remained out of the way of the cantankerous Kreig woman. Mephiston was nowhere to be seen. “How are you feeling?” Dagmar asked.

“Terrible,” she said. She barely recognised her voice, it was so choked up and thick.

“Sick? Stomach feel like a riot is going on? Head of thunder?” Dagmar asked. Her tone was insistent and although all Artemesia wanted to do was sleep, she knew she had to answer.

“Yes,” she nodded. She lay underneath her blankets, utterly bare and yet she still felt aflame. Even her jewellery had been removed! Dagmar bent down and laid a cool cloth against her forehead, immediately relieving some of the ache there.

“Don't fret, get some sleep. Your ladies will look after you for a while, but I will be back soon.”

“Why?” Artemesia asked. As far as she knew, Dagmar had no like for her.

“Go to sleep,” she said, a lot of the brusqueness from her tone gone, “I will explain it when you’re better.” She didn't have the strength to argue, so shut her eyes and tried to sleep as she has been advised


	18. Chapter 18

18

“The Death Guard did this,” Dagmar said. Synthalia had come upon her and Mephiston talking in one of the corridors. The expression on both their faces had caused her alarm immediately, and she had inserted herself into the conversation without hesitation. 

“What are you talking about?” Mephiston asked. “She is just unwell.”

“No, she isn’t! This is what happened to my people. I took this from her, it’s identical to the ones we had. There’s something in it that gives off low levels of concentrated radiation, that’s what made her sick.” Dagmar insisted. She showed them both a small gold necklace with a pendant. There were three circles engraved on it, and it looked harmless. “They gave these out, less than a week later, most of us were dead.”

Mephiston put his hands on Dagmar’s shoulders and bent down to catch her eyes, “I believe you,” he said, “It’s alright, but we need more than this to convince Raldoron.”

“We need to see what they are doing to the land,” Synthalia said. They both turned to look at her, as if noticing she was there for the first time. “If we see it with our eyes rather than simply suspect, then he will have to listen,” she said. At least, she hoped that he would anyway. She’d not had much to do with the Clan Master, but the more she heard, the less reasonable he seemed.

Mephiston nodded. “That’s not a bad idea, we can’t all go though, someone has to keep an eye on what’s going on around here,” he said.

“I’ll stay,” said Dagmar. “I know how to treat Artemesia anyway.”

“If Dante returned while we are gone, tell him everything,” Mephiston said.

“He needs to come back, bring some reason to the place.”

“Who is Dante?” Synthalia asked. 

“Raldoron’s son, Artemesia’s twin brother,” Dagmar said. “He spends more time out of the castle than in it, but is due to return any day now.” Synthalia nodded. It was common among all the clans for members to patrol and protect their borders, in this they were no different.

“I see,” she said.

“Come, we must go and get the evidence we need,” Mephiston said. He gave Dagmar’s shoulder a squeeze before gesturing for Synthalia to follow. The Night Lord paused, bit her lip and then embraced her friend in a tight hug. It was returned.

“Go,” Dagmar said. Synthalia nodded and then chased after Mephiston. She caught him up easily enough.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Mephiston asked, “If we are right, there will be danger.”

“Or I could stay around here, where I am already viewed with distaste,” she said. “If this helps, then I will help.” She paused before continuing, “I might not be Artemesia’s favourite person at the moment, but I don’t want to see her hurt. We need to do this,” she said.

Mephiston accepted her words without question and led her to a part of the castle she never thought to see: the armoury. 

“Find a sword,” he said with a gesture. “There is armour too, it might fit, it might not.” He paused and she looked up. “Can you ride?” he asked. 

“I can cling on to the saddle,” she shrugged.

“Close enough. I’ll find us mounts and provisions, we leave in an hour,” he said. He turned and left then and she turned her attention to the weaponry on display. Most of it she dismissed as impractical or useless. There were several swords that were more appropriate for her height, which drew her eye. The first one was weighted wrong, far too heavy in the hilt. The second was poorly balanced, the third however was perfect. It was light, the length was exact and it felt like an extension of her arm, like a good sword should do.

Grabbing the scabbard, she held onto it as she walked around the armour stands. Most of it would be too big and heavy for her, but there were a couple of bits of red leather that she could attach to herself if she got creative. 

It took half an hour, but when she was done, she had a workable set up. Most of her chest and legs were covered and she had found some long cuffs that would serve as bracers. Best of all, she could still move easily and it was light. She buckled on the sword at her hip and felt better than she had in a while. 

With nothing more to do, she strode out the armoury and headed towards the stable. She encountered several people as she walked, though they all got out her way. The hubbub went beyond the usual coming and going and she knew something was amiss. Not one of the Blood Angels or their people stopped her as she moved.

By the time she got there, Mephiston was bringing a pair of horses around. He was mounted on a brown gelding, dressed in leather armour that fitted him perfectly. His blonde hair was bound behind him, highlighting his sharp features and pale face. On his back was a large sword. His expression was grim, but he managed a wan smile when he saw her. The horse next to him had a saddle and what appeared to be a rolled up blanket attached to it.

“Come on,” he said, not unkindly.

Crossing to the animal, she ran a hand down it’s chestnut neck and gave it a pat. With her hands on the pommel of the saddle, she placed a foot in the stirrup and swung up. Mephiston passed her the reins and she nodded, “Let’s go,” she said.

Mephiston clucked and nudged his feet, her horse followed and in silence, the only sound was the echo of the hooved on the stone floor. The wind whirled and swept around them, though for now the rain held off. It looked as though it might not remain that way. 

Neither of them spoke for at least an hour. Synthalia spent most of it concentrating on staying on her horse and keeping up. It seemed like an easy thing to do, but it took more of her attention than she wanted it to. 

What she saw of the landscape was green, lush and fertile. Cultivation was happening in some places, and it was good to see that some clans were able to think about sustainability. The wind did not let up, but the clouds broke and sunshine filtered through. 

Synthalia lost track of time as they rode, though she did become more confident atop the horse. “How far is this land?” she asked after they had crossed a small bridge. 

“Another three hours and we’ll reach the border, we should see some changes before then,” he said. “Everything seems alright here, both physically and otherwise.”

Synthalia nodded and fell silent again. Mephiston was concentrating on the ethereal, so she worked on they physical. Two and a half hours later, changes began to show. The green grass was turning brown. A few clumps at first, soon turned into swaths. The trees had sickened, their leaves dressing their feet in shrouds. The water had turned brackish and stagnant.

She turned to Mephiston, just as he looked at her. Had he been doing that for long? She hadn’t felt his gaze, but she did now. “This is wrong,” she said. “And it’s getting more prominent too, look!” She gestured at some wilting flowers and shook her head.

“I can see, it’s the same with the Gift,” he said.

“Is this enough?” she asked, gesturing to the land. Mephiston shook his head.

“This is the edge of the land they want. I need to see further,” he said. Synthalia nodded and they continued along the path. The further they went, the worse it got. By the time Mephiston stopped, everything was dead.

When he turned to her again, the pain in his face was clear to see. She dearly hoped that this would be enough to convince Raldoron that something foul was going on here. If this failed, then who knew what it would take for him to see. Synthalia swallowed. Before them was a lake that was green in colour. The water bubbled and fizzed as though alive with something the stench was vile, decay tainted the very air they breathed.

She followed him in dismounting, the grass crunching beneath her feet as she landed. “What could do this?” she asked.

“I used to come swimming here as a child,” he said. His tone was distant. He walked over to a tree, rotten and crumbling. “Dante and I, we used to swing from the branches of this tree into the water, we spent hours here.” Synthalia couldn’t imagine doing so now, it was likely any contact with the water would prove deadly. She walked over to him, wanting to offer some form of comfort but not sure how. She should be annoyed with him, had he not done this to her home? No, he had destroyed it yes but done so with honesty. The Night Lord’s could rebuild if they ever got their act together and wanted to do so. What had occurred here had utterly destroyed the land. There would be no coming back from this. She placed her hand on his arm and gave it a small squeeze.

She got no time to speak however. Behind them, movement echoed and they both turned around. There, on the other side of the pond, stood an immensely build warrior. His head was bald, his nose looked as though it had been broken and not set properly and there were several boils on the left side of his face. “What are you doing here?” he snarled.

“We might ask the same of you,” Mephiston said. “This is not your land!”

“No? I am Grulgore, of the Death Guard and I am overseeing the annexation of this land to our care.” Behind him, others began to shuffle forward, “You are to leave this place.”

Synthalia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This land belonged to the Blood Angels Clan, nothing had changed, only that it was poisoned! She bristled, her hand dropping to the sword at her waist. Mephiston stopped her drawing with a quick gesture. “No, we will not,” he said.

Grulgore’s smile widened, as if that was what he wanted to hear. All of them drew weapons at the same time. The ring of steel was dampened by the pall that hung in the air. 

There was no shouting, just a rush of bodies. They rushed around the pond, two with Grulgore and three towards her. She clenched her jaw, relaxed her stomach and softened her knees. This was not going to be easy. She had faced poor odds before but it was the Night Lord way not to fight fair. She much preferred odds in her favour. “Back to me, Syn!” Mephiston shouted. That was the last thing she heard him say.

Her attention was drawn by those who would see her dead. Heart thundering in her ears, she brought her sword up to block the first attack. There was hesitation from them, they eyed her as if she was something of a novelty. Good. She could use that against them. Screeching, she kicked at one while slashing at the other. The third couldn’t get in, yet. The blow glanced off second but the kick landed.

Bringing her sword up, she blocked another blow and wove, ducking under another that would have taken her head off. As she ducked, she grabbed a handful of dirt. An old trick that Sevatar had taught her long ago. Lunging at the first, she threw the dirt into the second’s eyes. That she followed up with a thrust into his chest.

Pain flashed through her left arm and she lurched back from a blow that would have skewered her. Hawking, she spat in the face of the last attacker. He paused to wipe spittle from his face, giving her time to deal with the second. 

A great flash drew his attention. The air crackled, fizzed and grew dark again. By the time he remembered he was in a fight, she had cleaved him from shoulder to groin. There was a huge bang. As much as she wanted to, she did not look around. The dead eyes of her opponent looked at her, uncaring, unfeeling, remorseless. This one was faster than his two dead comrades. Quick blows put her on a back foot and she only just parried. It nicked her temple instead of cutting her in two. Blood trickled down her face and she dodged another well aimed blow.

Anger pulsed through her! How dare these idiots do this! She snorted and stepped forwards. The armour saved her, as she knew it would. The blow glanced off her chest and she barged the man out of the way. He stumbled and she caught him in the ribs. Blood flowed from the wound, covering her hand and arm. She jerked away from the man. Turning, she saw Mephiston take a hard strike to the shoulder. She squealed and looked around. Heart thundering, she swooped down and swiped what she needed. “Duck!” she shouted. Mephiston hadn’t straightened from the blow anyway. She hurled the rock, catching Grulgore on the shoulder. He turned and snarled at her.

“Go away little woman,” he growled. His words struck a chord within her.

“Scared you might lose?” she said. Holding out her hand, she gestured for him to come closer, “Come, let’s see if you’re good enough to take me on!”

It worked. He took three steps forwards. Blood exploded from his chest. His eyes widened in surprise. The spiked blade of a sword erupted from his ribcage. Synthalia laughed as Grulgore sank to his knees, utterly horrified that he could actually die. 

She watched as he fell, face first, into the muck he had created. She jerked around when something wet ran up her cheek. Heat coloured her face when she realised what it was. She hadn’t even heard him move. Turning her head, she caught his smouldering red eyes, hard and thunderous. His hand gripped her elbow, her heart thundered in her ears. Breath caught in her throat, her eyes took in his magnificence; so much better with some mud on his alabaster skin. She flicked her gaze to his mouth, red, inviting. 

Synthalia turned into him as he drew her close. Her mouth crashed into his, yielding immediately. She tasted the coopery tang of blood, the salt of his saliva and the fire of passion. Twisting her head slightly, she slid her tongue against his, wanting him. Her hand pushed into the stray locks of his hair, holding him still. His strong hand held the nape of her neck and she surrendered to him completely. 

Cold breath puffed against her cheek, an arm curled around her waist. Pulling back, she nipped his lower lip, her eyes meeting his. Never before had she seen such hunger there, such passion, such need. He pushed her backwards, her bum hit the dead tree trunk. The creek didn’t distract him, he found her mouth again and he lifted her up. Wrapping her legs around his waist, Synthalia savoured the sweet tang that was him.

Running her hand over his head, she curled her tongue around his. The moment extended, everything else faded out of existence until there was just them. Everywhere he touched seemed electrified in a way she had never felt before, she craved it, all over her body. Wanted him with an ache deep in her stomach, needed him.

When the kiss broke, he looked as flushed as she felt. Heat covered her body and she knew she was panting. “Fuck,” she whispered under her breath.

“I want to,” he said. His voice was thicker than usual, heavy and intense. Together, they looked at Grulgore’s body before looking at one another. This time, she kissed him gently, lingering and delicate. “Believe me I do, but…” He trailed off and kissed her back, cold, hard and delicious. Over far too quickly, “We have to go back.”

She brushed her thumb over his cold cheek and nodded, “I know,” she said. “I understand, but… fuck,” she cursed again. “Don’t make this the only time this happens.”

“I promise,” he said. He squeezed her waist, pressed his lips to hers in a closed mouthed kiss and let her down. “We have to go,” he said, keeping hold of her hand. She nodded again and he led her to the horses. Before he let go of her hand, he pressed it to his cool lips again. “When this is over, we can do this properly,” he said.

Synthalia nodded, “Sooner we get back then the sooner we can carry on,” she said with a wolfish grin. “Let’s go!” She nudged her horse, as he did and they were off heading back to the castle.

  
  



	19. Chapter 19

19

The moment they had both returned to the castle, Mephiston had dismounted. Synthalia had taken the reins and he had strode off to speak to Raldoron. She had steered the mount towards the stables and then dismounted herself. Her bum was sore, her thighs were sore and her cuts ached abominably. It was dark when they arrived, but there were people around in the stable and she handed the horses over to those who truly knew what they were doing. All she wanted to do was strip off the armour and get into a tub of hot water. Everything else could wait.

Synthalia made her way up the stone stairs to the bath house. At this time of night, it was empty. There was hot water however and she managed to achieve what she wanted. She took a long time, making sure her muscles softened and her cuts were clean. The last thing she wanted was infection from the disgusting blades. 

She lost track of time, but the water was tepid when she got out. Wrapping herself in a towel, she scooped up the clothes she had discarded onto the floor and tip-toed back to her room. It wasn’t far, and the only ones who were awake to see her were the castle mice. The clothes, armour and sword she placed on one of the chairs. She then pulled a silky night dress over her head and picked up the book. Some of the things the Blood Angels had were highly impractical, but felt nice - the night dress was one of them.

Synthalia was tired, but her mind was dancing over everything that had happened that day. Her lips tingled at the memory of Mephiston’s on hers, and although she wondered if he would keep his promise, at least she had that memory. She pressed her lips together and settled back on the bed. The beds here were amazing, not only did she have two thick blankets to wrap herself up in, they were made of feathers rather than straw. They didn’t itch, weren’t full of lice, nor were they mouldy. The pillows truly cushioned her head and didn’t feel like lumpy sacks. No wonder she felt better than she had in years.

Wiggling, she got herself comfortable and slowly closed her eyes. The book lay next to her and thudded softly as her hand relaxed. 

She was mostly asleep when she heard something in her room. Footsteps, soft and confident, made their way to where she lay. Not moving, she recognised the masculine scent of her travelling companion. He sat at the end of her bed, his weight shifting her. Synthalia sat up.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. His breathing was uneven, and he did not speak for a while. She was about to repeat herself when finally, he broke his silence.

“It was enough,” he said. His voice wasn’t quite right, softer perhaps. “Raldoron is reconsidering his stance on the Death Guard.”

“Then what troubles you? I can hear it in your voice, something has upset you.”

“Raldoron and I quarrelled over another matter,” he said. “I told him I was no longer able to marry his daughter. He took the news poorly.” Synthalia shifted to that she was sitting next to Mephiston. In spite of everything she felt for him, she was also his friend. Her hand touched his shoulder. “He is like a father to me,” he said, “I have never seen him like that before. He has released me from the vow, but I do not think he will want me around for a while.”

His hand touched hers and she nodded. “Sometimes, you have to consider yourself as well. I don’t think either of you would have been happy together.” She knew that was hollow comfort, she slid her hand into his and wrapped her fingers around his palm, “Rather a small hurt now, than a lifetime of hurt later.”

“He thinks you are the cause,” Mephiston said.

“Am I?” she asked.

There was a pause. “Partly.” He held her hand back at this point, “In making me realise my own misgivings instead of hiding them, but it would have happened eventually.”

“I am sorry,” she said. She meant that too, much to her own surprise.

He turned to look at her. She did not flinch away when he brushed a lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. The shiver that tip-toed through her at the contact was not appropriate, but she did enjoy it. “You are so beautiful,” he said. Synthalia almost laughed, but realised he was being serious. She blinked.

“Mephiston,” she said, suddenly unsure.

“I made you a promise,” he said. 

“You don’t. That was made in the after-battle passion and-” He pressed a finger to her lips and shook his head.

“But if you no longer wish to, I will understand.”

She licked the pad of his finger and smirked, “Of course I still do, but if you need more time. A lot has happened and if it feels too soon the-” His mouth silenced hers and once again, her blood ignited. 

He wasn’t cold either. When his hand moved to cup her cheek, it was warm. He was warm. It was a footnote in her thoughts however, Synthalia shifted closer, twisting so she could reach properly. HIs tongue pressed at her lips; she parted them, touching him with hers. The coppery tang was absent, but the taste that was all him flooded her once more. All thoughts evaporated with the contact, sending her mind to another space entirely.

Rough fingertips brushed the back of her neck, her hand pushed into soft locks, pressing against the delicate skin of his jaw. Warm breath touched her cheek. Her fingers asked questions of his flesh, bumping against ridge scars, rubbing over soft topography, feeling the tension in his shoulders. Easily, he lifted her into his lap, her night dress bunched up as she straddled him.

She toyed with his tongue, exploring and darting around him as his hands pushed up her back. The fabric rustled under his palms, scraping against her skin. Tilting her head, she pushed further against him, drawing him into her all the more. Her blood rushed in her ears, her stomach clenched as his thumb pressed against her hip. Everything she gave, he returned as strongly. Every touch was reflected back and they moved in unison. 

When the kiss broke, her breath was drawn in gasps. His lips were flushed with the contact, his eyes hooded and she was sure he would be seeing purple in her aura. She knew it rushed through her without needing to have the Gift to see it. “You’re not?” His voice was thick, his mouth brushed against the side of her neck. She felt his eye teeth against her skin, but he did not bite.

“No, I am not,” she hissed. He moved his teeth against her skin, she gasped. “It’s fine, go ahead.” He didn’t chomp into her, instead moved to the point where her neck met her shoulder and pressed down. The pain mingled with pleasure and she sucked in another breath. His tongue swept over the wound, another shiver curled up her spine. Synthalia pushed her fingers through the length of his hair as he paid attention to her shoulder. It was so silky, so soft with just the hint of a curl in it. It was beautiful; he was beautiful.

He lifted her again, gently, and placed her face down on the bed. His hand brushed against her upper thigh and she giggled despite herself. “Ticklish are you?” he mused. Synthalia nodded, though he did not make use of the information; instead, he pushed the fabric of the night gown up over her bum. Cool lips touched the base of her spine; her hands started to tremble. He pushed the fabric up further, following it with his lips.

With every touch, her breathing hitched. The ache between her thighs intensified, her solar plexus clenched and she longed to touch back. Needed to feel him, to return what he was giving to her. He reached her neck, his weight leaned over her. Wiggling up, she realised he was as aroused as she was. The cloth of his pants rubbed against her bare skin, it was too much.

Rolling, she grabbed the top of his shirt and pulled it up. He assisted with removing it, and her mouth found his chest. Nibbling and tasting, he relented for a moment. Little moans escaped him as she searched for sensitive spots. Heat practically radiated from him. Strong arms encircled her as she moved down his sculpted chest. When she reached the band of his pants, his hands touched her cheeks. Glancing up, she smirked and stopped. Perhaps there would be another time for such delights. She kissed the spot just below his navel; he shuddered. 

Sitting up, she pulled the night gown over her head. Nakedness had never been a bother for her, and she did not feel self-conscious now. “You too,” she said, eyeing the trousers. He smirked and licked his lips as though considering her command. When he did so, she took a moment to admire the sculpture that was his naked body. Unable to resist, she placed her index finger in the valley of his chest and slowly ran it down his stomach. She felt the skin flinch at her touch, but she did not stop until she reached the spot just above the base of his erection.

“You’re even better naked,” she said before wrapping her hand around his cock.

She thought he might have said something, but she began to slide her hand back and forth and his words were utterly lost. Watching the expression on his face change with every movement she made was a true delight. The little pucker of his frown, the way his eyes creased up, how his mouth opened and his lips gasped. She wondered what would happen when he released. Synthalia figured that she would find out very soon. 

Then there were the shifting changes in his prick. It jumped in her hand, his hips moved with her. Her other hand moved to cup and lift his balls, and the noise that followed was bliss. He didn’t let her continue, his hand caught her wrist and brought it away from his dick. She did give his balls a light tug and he growled, low in his throat.

“Fuck I need to be inside you,” he hissed. She pushed him onto his back, following the movement and straddling his hips. The hard tip of his cock pressed at her slick hear and she bit her lip. Leaning forward, she pushed her lips to his.

“I need you there Meph, more than anything right now. More than air.”

His hand rested on the base of her spine and he pushed up. Momentarily, her eyes widened. She slid down him, the feeling of fullness engulfing her every thought. It was so good, so hot, so… him. Thumbs brushed her hips and she grinned. Looking down at the way his hair fell on her pillow, how his red eyes gazed at her and the smile tugged at his lips was one of the most erotic thing she has ever seen. She was the cause of that, no one else. Slowly, she leaned to rest her hands on his broad chest and lifted her hips. 

Synthalia kept her movements slow, not wanting to overwhelm herself with the sensation she experienced. She wanted to savour this and rushing wouldn’t make it last. What she didn’t count on however was Mephiston’s enthusiasm and clear passion for her. He bent his knees and his hands seemed to be everywhere. Running over her stomach, her chest, pausing at her breasts before descending once again.

Finally, they settled at the spot between her thighs just before where they joined. A jolt flashed through her and she stopped her movements. “No?” he asked.

“Quite the opposite,” she gasped. “Unexpected.”

He rubbed his thumb over her clit again and she shuddered. Her gut clenched, tightening around him. “If that’s what it makes you do, then I am doing that again,” he said. And did. Again, she clenched. Biting her lip, she focused on moving, not wanting to get too caught up focusing on herself.

He gasped then, and she leaned back against his legs, wanting to look down at the contours of his body as she writhed above him. His thumb did not stop its attention and she found herself biting her lip as she watched his stomach muscles move with her. His hands moved, crept up her arms and pulled her down to him. Warmth flowed through him, his arms around her delicious. 

Turning her, she found herself on her side, her leg resting on his hip. He was so much closer. She thrust her hand into his hair and held his head, kissing him deeply before they both began moving once again. Her breath hitched as this time he flowed with her. Her pushes were met with his pulls; it robbed her of thoughts and coherency. His mouth brushed against her neck, his teeth once again scraping on her flesh. She didn’t care, it was bliss. 

Soft moans muffled against her skin, she met his movements with her own. His hair brushed against her neck. Sliding her hand over his warm torso, she reached down and gave him bum a good squeeze. He smiled against her neck and thrust sharply. “Do that again,” she hissed. 

“Only if you do,” he replied. His tongue lapped at her skin, curled up to her ear and he bit the lobe. Now, if that was a challenge, it was accepted. Her fingers trailed over his bum, and he in turn snapped his hips again. Each time he did so, a sharp spike jolted through her, so raw that it left her without words. 

His weight shifted again until he lay over her. Bringing her knees up, she wrapped her legs around Mephiston’s waist and dared him to do what was on his mind. She sent all the purple thoughts to him. “A little heavy handed don’t you think?” he said, leaning down to kiss her mouth.

“Shut up and fuck me,” she said. She emphasised her point by clenching around his hot cock. He groaned, but seemed to get the message. Synthalia met Mephiston’s movements, now quicker. Every motion set her body aflame, heat washed through her, pooling in a tight coil at the base of her spine. She ran her hands down his back, letting her nails scratch the skin as he thrust into her. 

He swelled inside her, his face glowed with passion. The lines between his brow and the way his eyes focused on her was captivating. He was biting his lip, sucking it into his mouth. She knew he was close, that look said everything. Running her hands up his chest, she found his nipples and gave them a squeeze. Mephiston gasped out something that might have been a curse, and slammed into her, harder than before. 

Synthalia’s cries joined his and without further warning, the tension in her gut snapped. Mephiston kept pumping into her, even as she tightened around him. Her legs gripped his torso and her body shook as waves of fiery pleasure took her awareness of the world for a few brief moments. He released into her with a groan, his final thrusts sharp and deep. His moans caught in his throat and as she began to relax, she saw the rapture on his face. 

He did not collapse onto her, but his weight sagged onto his forearms close to her head. Her hand came to rest on his nape and her thighs relaxed back onto the bed. The bones in her body had turned to jelly, and she wanted to cling to Mephiston as they both came down from the pleasure high they had experienced. Yet she was unsure, was that something she should do? 

Doubt was chased away when he did move from her and pulled her into his arms. She curled into his side as he lay on his back and laid her arm over his chest in a loose hold. He kissed her forehead, her temple and finally her mouth, though for a long while, neither of them spoke. The chill in the air crept over her skin, and Synthalia pulled the blanket over them both for the time being.

Leaning up, she kissed his cheek, “I needed that, from you,” she said.

“I couldn’t tell,” he said. 

She lightly punched his arm, “Don’t be awful,” she said. He laughed and shook his head.

“I needed you too,” he said.

“This has made things complicated,” she said. His flesh was cooling, though not to the coldness he had been previously.

“Not for now,” he said. He drew her closer against him and she snuggled into his chest. “And that is not today’s problem, today, we have one another and that is enough,” he said. The words made her throat tighten, so she nodded a response for now. Breathing in his scent, she wondered if this was something they could do regularly. She hoped so, he had given her so much and asked so little. Would it be wrong to ask for more? She didn’t think so. Kissing the patch of skin closest to her mouth, she let out a content sigh. He was right, it was trouble for another time.

“Will you stay?” she asked. 

“For now, though I might be gone by morning. Tomorrow is going to be difficult and I need to make sure the Death Guard get the right message,” he said. She nodded and tightened her grip. 

“That’s enough for me,” she whispered, and she found that when she shut her eyes, she had meant it.


	20. Chapter 20

Mephiston had left Synthalia’s side just before dawn. He’d looked down in the gloom at her and smiled, even in sleep she was beautiful. It was with regret that he had left. She didn't wake when he kissed her forehead, slipped from the bed and scooped up his clothes. There was a murmur as he dressed but she remained sleeping. He pushed his ruffled hair out his face and tied it in place with a band he grabbed from her dresser, it would do for now.

He did feel well, if not completely rested. The corners of his mouth tugged into a smile without him thinking about it, and he felt lighter than he had in months. The cares had melted away and although he knew they were waiting for him, for now he felt very fine indeed. He wasn't quite humming as he walked, but it was close.

Mephiston was so intent on getting to his rooms for clean clothes and a bath, that he didn't notice the other person in the corridor. “And where are you off to in such a hurry?” The rich voice made him stop and he turned on his heel.

At the other end of the hallway stood a figure. Tall, fair skinned with a noble face, fine black hair fixed back in a braid that Mephiston knew reached the centre of his back. As far as he was concerned, there were no other males in the clan who were more beautiful. Fortunately, they had been friends since childhood and there would be no awkwardness between them. There never was.

“Dante!” he said, a little louder than he intended. He strode towards his friend and embraced him. The gesture was returned and for a moment, they just hugged. A slap on the back and they parted, “It is good to see you returned,” Mephiston said.

“I only just got back. You were the last one I expected to see,” he said, “Come on, I’m thirsty and eager to sit on something that doesn’t smell of horse!”

With that, the pair of them headed to the kitchen. When they’d rustled up two full tankards and a plate of cold meat, bread and cheese, they sat down on one of the benches. There as no one around yet, though that was sure to change within the next half an hour. 

“Now,” Dante said, “What’s all this about?” 

“What?” Mephiston asked.

“You’re out roaming in the smallest of hours, and smiling about it! And, you haven’t dressed properly either, you’re running from someone else’s room,” Dante’s eyes widened at the deduction, though Mephiston neither confirmed or denied it. “Artemesia’s ladies will never let something like that happen. Who is she?”

“A lot has happened in your absence,” Mephiston said.

“I think you need to tell me everything…” And so Mephiston did. He started from the destruction of the Night Lord’s castle and how he had captured Synthalia. He told of her adjustment to life here and how the Death Guard had turned up. How his heart had changed and that he had denied it for a time. The journey of the day and how it had ended. 

When he had finished, he remained silent for a while, letting Dante digest what he had been told. He drained half his tankard and nodded, “Well, I never thought you were a good choice for my sister, though father was remarkably stubborn on that, but you could have waited until she knew before moving on,” he said. Mephiston saw sincerity in his aura, and knew his friend was right. He could have waited, but that would have presented other problems. Done was done, and there was no way he was going to feel terrible for it. 

“You’ll like her,” Mephiston said, “But you’ve heard of my woes, tell me where you have been,” he said.

“I was with the Salamanders,” he said, “You remember they called for assistance with some building work a few months back?” Mephiston nodded and bit into a piece of bread, “I’ve been with them, Astorath is still with them and most of the others too. They’re building bridges and clearing land. The Salamanders have been decimated, the war with the Word Bearers has left them with almost nothing. You should have seen it Meph, they live in little more than tents.”

“That bad?” he asked, encouraging his friend to continue.

“We built foundations and cut timber for the first month, made sure there were enough space for them all inside before the weather changed. We then worked on other structures, animal pens, storage and such. I even did some planting,” Dante said with a short laugh. “Can you imagine!”

“I can,” Mephiston said.

“I had to come back, I had a strange letter and needed to ensure everything was going as planned here.” Dante said.

“Your sister is unwell, Dagmar watches over her.”

“Death Guard,” Dante said with a grim face. “I know what they do, how they work. I’ve heard the stories.”

“You need to put pressure on your father, tell him what you know. I have been trying for a while but he doesn’t want to listen,” Mephiston said. “I fear it might be too late!”

Dante nodded, though his expression was grim now, “Leave father to me,” he said. “I know he is stubborn but he means well.”

“I don’t think he wants me around much at the moment,” Mephiston said with a grimace.

“I imagine he had some choice adjectives to describe you,” Dante said, the grin back on his face. Mephiston was tempted to lean over and clip his friend about the ear but resisted. “Look, leave Raldoron to me, I will make him listen. I’m not going to help you with Artemesia, she will shriek and rant at you all she likes because you do deserve that. But, she will get over it.” Dante drained the last of the beer and got to his feet. “I think for now though, I want a bath and to rest.”

“That’s fair,” Mephiston said, expecting nothing else. He also needed to bathe and find fresh clothes. What he did after that, depended greatly on who was about and what needed to be done. They bade one another farewell, and went their separate ways for the time being, there would be time for more talk later.


	21. Chapter 21

While Synthalia and Mephiston had been away, Dagmar had taken it upon herself to watch over the stricken Artemesia. It wasn’t a task she had particularly relished, but no one else had the same experience that she did. No one else has seen what had happened to her people and so they had no idea what to expect. Unfortunately, Dagmar did. 

She had made Artemesia stay in bed, despite protestations from the woman that she fleet much better. Indeed, there was colour in her cheeks and her eyes were brighter too. “I don't understand why I have to sit here, I feel fine,” she said.

“At the moment,” Dagmar said.

“It was just something I ate, you can't keep me here!” Artemesia said.

“I can,” Dagmar said. “And will. I’ve spoken to Raldoron about what I know and he agrees with me. There’s nothing harmful about resting and recovering. If it turns out to be nothing, then fine, but I suspect otherwise.”

Artemesia folded her arms over her chest, and huffed out a small sigh, but made no further protests. Good. The last thing she wanted was to argue with her. Silence descended for a while, and she let her mind clear. Artemesia settled back into the blankets and didn’t speak for a long time. Dagmar could see there were questions she had, she wore them on her face, but she would wait until she was asked.

“How do you know all this?” she asked. 

Dagmar looked up and pressed her lips together. “Do you really want to know?” she asked, pushing fine blonde hair from her face. Artemesia nodded.

“It happened to my people,” she said.

“To Kreig?”

“That’s right. We were prosperous when I was a child. We produced good food, good wine and good mercenaries. That was the majority of the trade and we were sought after. I grew up in a good community, was taught to ride and fight, to till and work the land.” Dagmar explained.

“It sounds nice,” Artemesia said.

“It was, until the Death Guard came,” she said. Artemesia frowned at that.

“What happened, they appear so cordial.”

“They appeared as friends to us as well, came bearing gifts and trinkets. Krieg was never rich in wealth, our resources were elsewhere and as such, the jewels we were given were readily taken. Several days later, people began to get sick, myself included.” Artemesia had taken on that pale hue to her skin again; Dagmar already knew what was coming, was prepared for it.

“I watched them die, the land sickened and a pall was cast over everything. It withered and died, as the people did. Too late we realised we had been poisoned, and how. Some of us survived, and we looked after those who did not. Then the attack came and we were scattered.” Dagmar kept her voice level, though how she did not quite know. The memories were not pleasant ones and speaking of them brought the experiences back.

“How many escaped?” Artemesia asked.

“I don’t know. I was found wandering, sick and alone, by Mephiston. He brought me here and the rest you know,” she said.

Artemesia smiled at Mephiston’s name and Dagmar flinched inwardly, that heartache could wait, however she resolved not to mention him again if she could help it. “He does like to help those less fortunate than he,” Artemesia said. Dagmar nodded though said no more. “What will happen to me?” she then asked.

Dagmar looked at her hands and shook her head. “It’s not pleasant,” she warned. Artemesia didn’t look away, so she continued. “How long did you wear it for?”

“Just that evening, I never sleep in a necklace,” she said.

“Then, sickness, likely diarrhea, confusion, fever and your hair might fall out as well,” Dagmar said. Artemesia paled further and shut her eyes.

“But I feel alright,” she whispered.

“It goes dormant, then explodes after a quiet time,” Dagmar said. 

“You’ll stay?” 

Dagmar nodded. “Get some sleep, you’re going to need it,” she said. Artemesia closed her eyes, Dagmar looked at her hands. The memories flooded in as the other woman’s breathing evened out into regularity.

She wrung her hands together. She’d had a brother once. A brother full of life and laughter. His eyes vibrant and gleaming. They’d played together, bickered together, toiled together. They had almost died together. Dagmar shut her eyes, the memories of his final days flooding her unwillingly. How he had vomitted blood, how his bowels turned to water. Swallowing hard, she blinked back unwanted tears. He had coughed up his insides in the end, she had scooped chunks of matter out of his mouth to stop him choking. He had died hours later, unrecognisable.

Dagmar shut her eyes and hoped that she would not have to endure that again. The colour of Artemesia’s face made her doubt that hope. 

The sickness started an hour and a half later. She complained of an incessant headache and her guts turned liquid. For Dagmar, it merely reminded her of her people and what had befallen them. She bore it all as best as she could, hoping that Synthalia and Mephiston were able to find what they needed to convince Raldoron that everything was amiss. 

Artemesia’s temperature soared and she fell to raving. Dagmar used a rage soaked in cold water to try and alleviate it, but knew that it would do little. She called out in her fever, asking for her women, for Mephiston, her father and even her brother Dante. Dagmar made sure her friends were kept up to date and made use of them too. They brought cool water, removed soiled buckets and tried not to fuss.

Dagmar had no idea how long she tended to Artemesia, but by the time the other woman had settled, she was exhausted. She had left instructions and gone to clean herself up. Although the infection was not contagious, she didn’t relish the idea of sleeping with the stench of another person’s sick on her. 

The following day Artemesia was no better. Dagmar had heard that the two of them had returned, as well as Dante, but she didn’t get a chance to speak to either of them. She was so busy tending to Artemesia, that when the world turned upside down, she was caught completely unaware.


	22. Chapter 22

Synthalia awoke alone, as she suspected that she would. She stretched out, hummed in the back of her throat and yawned. Mephiston’s scent lingered on her sheets, and the ache between her thighs told her that last night had not been some dream, it had happened. She smiled, a genuine curl of her lips that made her feel warm all over again. Somehow, she knew she was going to struggle to keep that off her face today.

When she rose, the sun was already well into the sky. One look out the window told her it was going to be a miserable day. The clouds were gathering already and light was taking on a gloomy cast. Rain would be with them in less than an hour. She would not run today, no, she needed to catch up with Dagmar and see how Artemesia was. There was a touch of guilt when she thought of the sick woman. She had spent the night in the arms of her betrothed and intended to do so again, and soon.

She dressed in the comfortable trousers, pulled a shirt over her head and buckled on the sword she had kept. The armour was probably a bit too much, but it did feel good to carry a weapon again. She felt herself, only better. Synthalia did not question that, she accepted it and wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

After she had visited the kitchen to swipe a couple of apples and some bread and stuffed it in her bag, she headed to Artemesia’s rooms. When she arrived, she laid eyes on a tall, expertly put together fellow with dark hair. He was waiting outside the room, and turned to look at her as she approached. He looked familiar in some ways. “And you must be Synthalia,” he said. 

“Who the fuck are you?” she asked. 

“Dante,” he said. 

“How is she?” She took one of the apples from her bag and bit into it. She took the other out and tossed it to Dante. He caught it and turned it over in his hands.

“They won’t let me in,” he said.

“Dagmar in there?” He nodded. She barged passed him and pounded on the door.

“Go away Dante, come back in fifteen minutes,” Dagmar yelled. 

“Let me in!” Synthalia shouted back. There was some shuffling, and the door opened a fraction. The weary face of Feda appeared. 

“What do you want?” she asked. “My mistress is still sick and in no state to receive visitors,” she said. Synthalia slammed her hand on the door; Feda jumped.

“My friend is in there tending to her!” she snapped, “Let me in so I don’t have to kick the door down.” Dante laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said. Synthalia shot him a withering glare over her shoulder, but didn’t need to do anything else as Feda opened the door a little wider and let her in. The room reeked of illness, though it had been kept reasonably clean. The windows were open and fresh air was in the process of replacing the stale. Dagmar looked tired, Artemesia looked terrible and for a moment, Synthalia considered turning and leaving. 

“Did it work?” Dagmar asked. Synthalia nodded. “Good. Now help me with her.” Synthalia looked horrified for a moment. “I can’t lift her and she’s pretty weak, we just need to get her to the seat so we can change the bed.”

“I can walk!” Artemesia protested.

“And we’re going to help you,” Dagmar said. Synthalia moved to the other side and together, they helped the recovering woman to the wing-chair by the fire. She was weak, but she managed most of it before stumbling. A pang of sympathy shot through Synthalia as she assisted Artemesia into the chair. 

“Let my brother in please,” she said when she was settled. Synthalia did so. ALthough she wanted to speak to Dante herself; he was a friend of Mephiston and he had spoken highly of him, it was important he speak to his sister first. She let them have their privacy and assisted Dagmar in changing the sheets and tidying up the space.

“What did you find?” the blonde woman asked as she tugged the bottom sheet off the bed.

“Death,” Synthalia replied. Dagmar nodded.

“And Raldoron?”

“Mephiston is… going to speak with him. Did, and is continuing to do what he must,” she said. Dagmar looked at her for a moment, she felt her cheeks colour. Thankfully, she didn’t say anything about it. That was a situation that could wait. Dagmar threw a clean sheet at her head. Synthalia caught it and began shaking it out. “What about her?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” Dagmar said, “She didn’t have the necklace on for that long but I have no idea how strong it is. She’ll get worse before she gets better.” 

Synthalia grimaced. Sickness was nothing strange to her, but seeing it always hammered home the frailty of their lives. It wasn’t something she could fight off with her weapons and it left her feeling helpless.

“What else happened?” Dagmar asked as she leaned over to tuck in the sheets. “And don’t tell me nothing because you’d be lying.”

“We had to fight,” she said. “Grulgore he was called, and he was vile.” She shook her head. “It all happened so fast. And then we had to get back.”

“You enjoyed it though,” Dagmar said.

“The fighting yes, not the riding though; horses are awkward.” Dagmar laughed at that and straightened up. The bed was made but a glance at the siblings showed that the patient was not yet ready to return to rest.

“Can you smell that?” Dagmar asked. Synthalia sniffed but shook her head. Dagmar opened one of the windows and leaned out, Synthalia followed, a frown on her face. “Smells like rotten eggs.”

“Yes,” Synthalia said, “Something does smell a bit shitty.” She was about to say something else when a huge bang echoed through the building. They exchanged a glance before looking back into the room. Dante was on his feet, though his sister looked as though she had fallen into a swoon.

By the time Synthalia had reached the door, smoke was pouring into the corridor. Another explosion ripped through the air, dust and fragments of stone flooded the way out. Dante looked over her shoulder, “We have to get out of here,” she said. 

“Go!” he said. Dagmar was right behind her. Synthalia took the smaller woman’s hand and pulled her into the confused corridor. When she looked over her shoulder, Dante was carrying his unwell sister in his arms. 

“Make for the south exit!” he yelled. Synthalia knew where that was. Keeping hold of Dagmar, she tugged her forward. Smoke choked the way and there was a horrid amount of rubble in the way. Synthalia could still climb over, but another explosion shook the foundations. Brick fell from the ceiling. 

“What’s happening?” she shouted.

“I don’t know!” Dagmar replied, “I bet the Death Guard are behind it though.”

Of course they were! Had they not blown the veneer of sincerity the day before? Hadn’t Mephiston been discussing this with Raldoron all this time? Her stomach dropped and she felt cold at the thought. She had to find him! She had to get out and away first. The castle rocked again. “Run!” Dante’s voice echoed through the gloom. A glance over her shoulder; she couldn’t see him.

“Come on,” Dagmar yelled. The small woman was able to keep up, all the running they did was paying off. Another boom echoed behind them, sending a shower of shrapnel after them.

“What’s doing that?” Synthalia yelled.

“Just go!”

The door was intact, though the wall had taken a blast. Synthalia disregarded the door and leapt through the hole instead. Outside, the carnage could be seen in full. Several holes pitted the castle walls, screams echoed through the smoke, more explosions punctuated the air. Synthalia drew the sword she had strapped to her belt. She knew an ambush when she saw one and who knew what or who was waiting for them once the smoke cleared.

“Keep going, head to the willows,” Dante shouted behind them. Dagmar tugged her hand once in the right direction before letting go and breaking into a sprint. Synthalia followed close on her heels. 

Thirty seconds later, they stood under the willow tree. Dante arrived moments behind them and laid his sister on the ground. She coughed and looked dazed but otherwise well. “Where’s Feda?” Artemesia asked.

“I'm here,” the woman said. She took Artemesia’s hand and the five of them turned to watch what was happening to the castle.

“My father is in there!” Dante said, “I have to go back.”

Dagmar pressed her lips together, “You can’t, look!”

Another explosion tore through the building, what was left of it, and as if in slow motion, the roof began to crumble. More people were flooding out; a lot of them fell when the rubble landed. Cold bit the bottom of Synthalia's stomach as she watched those she had never seen before crushed under the rubble. Somewhere, Mephiston was in all that. Hot tears stained her cheeks and she yelled out a deep, savage cry.

“Come on,” Dagmar said, “Let’s search the surroundings, more will have got out.” It wasn't quite the reassurance she wanted but she took it anyway.

“Artemesia can’t go far,” Dante said.

“Fine, wait here then. We will send who we find to you,” Synthalia said. A few nods and they both jogged off in search of others. Everyone they met they pointed towards where Dante waited. It wasn't many. Gaius was one of them; he was confused, covered in dust and a steady stream of blood trickled from his forehead, but he nodded and headed in that direction.

All the while, the castle that had been home for the past few weeks continued to collapse. Not one member of the Death Guard had been seen but Synthalia had little doubt they were the cause of this disaster. Her mind kept hoping, almost willing, that they would find Mephiston and Raldoron as well. They couldn't be dead, just couldn't. 

By the time they reached the willows again, her heart was thunder. She scanned the small crowd several times but saw no familiar face. She closed her eyes, unable to keep the dread at bay any longer. Drawing in a deep breath, she fought back a sob when Dagmar nudged her ribs.

“Look,” she whispered.

She was running the moment she realised who the ghostly figure was walking out the smoke. The moment she got to him, she flung her arms around him. Mephiston's arms encircled her and he pulled her in. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered.

“Not yet,” he replied. She leaned back a fraction and searched his red eyes. He seemed fine, although dusty. He scanned her face and without thought of who was nearby, the gap closed and a relieved, heated kiss told her he truly was still alive. When she broke off and released him, she turned to look back at the group expecting to meet Dagmar’s gaze. Instead, she caught the thunderous gaze of Artemesia.


	23. Chapter 23

What happened next was chaos. Synthalia’s clear display of her affection for him sent Artemesia into a rage that would have done her father proud. That Mephiston had clearly returned the affection in a way he never had with Artemesia only seemed to make matters worse. Still, he did not let go of Synthalia until he was ready to. He was not ashamed or embarrassed by her and he wouldn't be made to feel so either. Perhaps the timing could have been a little better.

Dante reached them both. Synthalia stepped aside but did not let go of his hand. He didn’t let it go either. The expression on his friend’s face snapped him back to where they were, “Where’s father?” Dante asked. Mephiston shook his head.

Mephiston shook his head, opened his mouth as if he was going to say something. There was a deeper rumble, the castle shuddered. All three of them looked around.

“We have to move,” Synthalia said. There was no arguments, they all jogged away to the space where the others were waiting. Another rumble and debris shattered down on the grounds. Helpless, the crowd watched as the castle foundations finally gave way. Dust and rubble erupted into the sky. The roar and crash of stone thudding into the ground, the screams and howls of those who had once inhabited it and the splintering of wood filled the air. Mephiston turned and watched the destruction of his home without an expression on his face. Anger coursed through his veins, his fists clenched but he refused to let it show. Synthalia’s hand in his squeezed back. He did not relax.

“Where’s my father?” Artemesia demanded. Mephiston glanced down at her and shook his head. Dante appeared beside her, “You were with him when this happened, where is he?”

“We got separated when it started,” he said. He closed his eyes and recalled exactly what had happened. 

“I don’t believe you!” Artemesia spat.

“I left the room to get more water, the attack began while I was on the way out.” He glanced down at the floor. “I ran back into the room just as the ceiling gave way. I tried everything…” He swallowed and looked up, “I wasn’t strong enough, I couldn’t save him.” He knew there were tears in his eyes, and he blinked them down his cheeks unchecked. Dante’s hand on his shoulder drew his attention.

“How?” he asked.

“The second blast… His chest was crushed, I couldn’t heal the damage,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Did he… was he in pain?” Dante asked.

“I took that away at least,” Mephiston said. He watched as his best friend’s face crumpled and he sucked in a shuddering breath. Artemesia let out a scream.

“How could you leave him?” she shrieked. Her fists curled and struck his arm, “How could you do any of this? You’re supposed to be magical! Why didn’t you stop any of this?”

“Artie, it’s not his fault,” Dante said. He tried to put his arm around her but she shrugged out of it.

“Shut up Dante! If you hadn’t noticed, our home is in ruins! Our father is dead and it is his fault,” she screeched.

“Oh fuck off!” Synthalia barked. Mephiston squeezed her hand but she didn’t back down. He wasn’t sure what else he should have thought she’d do. “He has been trying to tell Raldoron about the Death Guard for days, since they turned up but he didn’t listen. It took us riding out to see for ourselves before he would even think about listening and by then it was too late.”

“What do you even know?” Artemesia said, rounding on her, “You show up, savage and uncivilised, hang around for a few weeks and think you know everything. How dare you act like this? I was happy before you turned up and so was Mephiston!”

“You’re not stupid enough to believe that are you?” Synthalia asked.

Artemesia raised her hand to slap Synthalia. Mephiston caught it and shook his head. “You’re taking her side?” she snapped.

“We have a lot to discuss, all of us, but this is not the place,” he said cooly. “We have to get out of here before the Death Guard arrive with their forces and kill all of us.” He let go of both Synthalia and Artemesia and turned to Dante. “There are a lot of upset, confused people here, we need to go. We can grieve later,” he said. Dante pinched the bridge of his nose and wiped his eyes. He nodded.

“You’re right,” he said. His melodic voice was rough but he kept the emotion in check. “We need to go somewhere.”

Dante turned and looked at the others milling around and swallowed. Mephiston didn’t envy his friend, organising these people wasn’t going to be easy. He had no idea where they would go, they had nothing, only the clothes on their backs. Placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder, he nodded. “We’re with you Dante, let’s get going.”

“Everyone.” Danta shouted. Murmurs stopped and the remaining people turned to look at him. “We cannot stay here. The Death Guard will be here soon to claim what they have ruined and we should not be here when they do. We have nothing, we cannot fight now. We have to go.”

“But our home!”

“Where will we go?”

“We are not without allies,” Dante said. “We have options and we can discuss those when we are safe, for now, we shall head east; all our allies are east of us.” There were murmurs but generally they agreed with what he had said. Mephiston glanced at Synthalia, she had turned to Dagmar and the two women were talking. Artemesia had sidled up to her brother but remained silent. She was pale again. Mephiston sighed and looked away; he had a lot he wanted to tell her but now was not the time. There might not be a time for it. 

Dante led the group away from the gardens. The road out clear, but he didn’t remain on it for long. There were some questions, but he answered none while they walked. By the time the sun was beginning to reach the horizon, two hours later, the small group entered a clearing. “We’ll rest here tonight,” he said. “Come, everyone gather around. We need to do some chores before we can truly rest. Some of you need to collect wood for fires, some of you need to try and find food. There will be berries and mushrooms we can eat, we just need to be careful.”

Mephiston watched as the people organised themselves into small groups. Synthalia grabbed Dagmar and the two of them quickly began discussing something again. Artemesia stood beside her brother not engaging with the others; even Feda was talking to someone. “Sister, what are you going to do?” Dante asked.

“Me?” she squeaked. “I am exhausted from walking.”

“We all are,” Dante said, “Join one of the groups and collect some firewood, we are going to need it.”

“But-”

“No arguing Artemesia. I am going to help as well, so is Mephiston.” 

“I don’t know what to do.” 

“You bend down and pick up sticks, when you cannot carry any more you come back, drop them off and then go and find some more,” Dante snapped, “It’s time to grow up!” He strode off then, heading to the treeline.

“Let him go,” Mephiston said.

“Piss off,” she barked, “You don’t get to mess around with someone else and then have tender words for me. You don’t get to talk to me at all.” She turned on her heel then and also walked away. He followed neither of them. All of them needed some space, finding food away from everyone would give him time to think as well. 

  
  
  



	24. Chapter 24

The next few days were hard on all of them. Dante watched as some of his people came together and rose to the challenges they faced. They walked, hunted and survived without complaint and for that he was proud. Others were not so good at facing this crisis. Despite his personal grief and the heaviness he felt within himself, he listened to their woes and tried to help them as best as he could. Long into the night he was kept awake with the advice, moans and whining of those around him. Sleep, when he had the time to do so, was a long time coming and quick to flee.

On the morning of the fourth day, he awoke with a start. His dreams had been dark. His breath drew in rapidly, calming as he realised the rock was in his mind, not on his chest. Pushing stray black hair from his face, he sucked in a cold breath. The fire had burned low in the hour just before dawn. He threw on some more wood, knowing the group would need the warmth when they awoke.

Standing, he walked to the edge of the encampment and sighed. For the moment, he was alone. No one was bombarding him with questions or demanding answers he didn’t have. Wrapping his arms around his chest, he fought against the heavy lump that suddenly rose in his throat. He wished his father were here, he would know what to do. He’d never had let it come to this; a stupid walk around in the forest without a clue. Letting his arms drop to his sides, his fists clenched. 

He wanted to scream, to shout at the next person to ask if he was alright that he truly wasn’t. He wanted to- Dante started when a cold hand touched his shoulder. “What do you want?” he snapped without meaning to.

“I know you’re not alright,” Mephiston said.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes you did.” Dante turned to look at him. Red eyes gazed at him intently. He had always thought Mephiston beautiful in so many ways, but his eyes truly were. “And it’s alright. I don’t have words of comfort for you, but I cannot stand to see you so alone,” he said. “And in such pain.”

The well of emotion he had been trying to push away bubbled up and a sob escaped his lips. Dante’s vision wavered as water filled his eyes. “I want to hate you for it all,” he muttered. “For the death and destruction, for seeing it all so clearly when Father couldn’t.” He wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. “I wanted to hate you when I came back and found you with someone who wasn’t Artemesia.” Mephiston remained silent, but he did not withdraw his hand from his shoulder. “Tell me you’re happy.”

“Dante, it’s been three years since-”

“Tell me you’re happy with her and I will speak no more.” Dante repeated. 

“Of course I am.”

Dante nodded and placed his hand over Mephiston’s. His skin was glacial. Wrapping his fingers around Mephiston’s, he gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “That makes one of us at least,” he said before dropping his hand to his side again.

A light wind tugged at his clothing. “I miss him so much. There are so many things I wanted to tell him and…” he trailed off. He couldn’t speak further, not without descending into sobs, which he wouldn’t do in front of his friend. The grip on his shoulder eased and Dante thought Mephiston would leave him be. Instead, he was pulled into a hug that should have been warmer. 

It mattered not, the effect would have been the same regardless. The fragile grip he had on his sorrow loosened and he sobbed against the embrace he now found himself in. Dante had no idea how long he stayed like that. The cold hand of his friend, the soothing sounds he made did something to ease the tight pain in his chest. When he lifted his head, he sniffed and wiped his nose with a piece of fabric that he has used as a handkerchief.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Mephiston let him go with a small shake of his head, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

“I should be better. There is too much happening for this.”

“Dante,” Mephiston said. He looked up at the soft tone, “We’re here to help you, we all are.” He tilted his head a little at that.

“I can’t put that on your shoulders, you’ve been through enough too.” Mephiston sat down on the ground, Dante followed, aware that they would be talking for a while. It was cold, and damp this far from the fires but he refused to let it bother him. Looking over at his friend, he tried to smile. A very different pang shot through him and he looked away again. 

“We both have, but we will get through it, as we always do.” Dante nodded, surprised when Mephiston inched over to him. He leaned against his cold form, head resting on his shoulder. His eyes welled up again, but the tightness in his chest was gone, at least for the time being. 

“Thank you,” he said.

Footsteps behind him caused Dante to look up. Synthalia regarded them both with her black eyes before sitting on the other side of Mephiston. “He won’t keep you warm,” he said.

“Then we will have to warm him instead,” she said. She wrapped her arm over his shoulder and to his surprise, Dante did so too. Her hand patted his shoulder and he dared to smile. Synthalia cuddled into Mephiston and Dante found himself leaning against him too. She was silent for a moment but he knew there was something she wanted to say. Dante gave her the time to find the words, wondered if she would ever find them as the silence stretched onwards.

“I’m not one of you,” she said. Mephiston took her hand without a word. “I’ve come a long way since you took me in but I will never be the same. My eyes are a sign of that. I’m different. I mean, Mephiston is too but he is still a Blood Angel.” She paused.

“What are you trying to say?” Dante asked softly.

“I’m new here, but I am not blind. There is a lot I don’t know, history and shit, but I can see there was more to you two than childhood friendship. No, don’t say anything yet. I think it’s really clear how I feel, but I can’t stand in the way of you two.” She turned away, looking off into the distance when she finished speaking. 

“Syn?” Mephiston said.

“Just answer this,” she said, “Why were you with Artemesia in the first place?”

“Raldoron found out about us,” Mephiston said, “And he was not impressed to say the least. I was given the choice to either stay and court Artemesia, or leave. So I stayed. If I couldn’t be with him, then at least we could still be friends. Of course, that was when Dante was sent away on diplomatic missions. That was three years ago.” Mephiston took Dante’s hand with his other and squeezed it.

“I never stopped loving you,” Dante said. 

“I know.”

“So tell me Mephiston, where do we come in? I know Artemesia did not make you happy. Did you use me as a way out, or was what you felt real?” Synthalia asked. Dante could hear the emotion forced back in her voice. He watched as Mephiston turned to her and gently kissed her mouth. The hand holding his warmed.

“Both,” he said. “It started off as a stupid bet to see if you could be tamed; it turned into something far more valuable than that.” This time when he kissed her, it was a much deeper, passionate gesture. She was the one to break it. “I love you, but the damned thing is I love him too and I cannot choose between you both.” His fist squeezed both their hands.

“Who said you have to?” Synthalia said.

“What?” Dante said at the same time as Mephiston.

“Look. I ain’t going to get in the way of you two, but damned if I am going to give up on this either.” She pressed her lips together before continuing. “Maybe it’s a Night Lord thing but we’re much less restrictive about who we see and who we fuck.”

“It wouldn’t bother you?” Dante asked. “I don’t want to cause trouble.” She leaned forward then and looked at him. Her features were hawkish but there was a definite mischievous charm to them.

What she did next caught him completely by surprise. 

He could taste Mephiston on her lips when they pushed against his. His eyes widened, it was very far from unpleasant. “Not too bad,” she mused. Dante blinked.

“I…” Dante stammered. Synthalia laughed.

“Now you get to kiss him,” she said. Dante didn’t really need encouraging, and neither did Mephiston either. There was no clumsy bumping of noses, no scrap of teeth, just a pressing together of lips in a familiarity that was as much a relief as a comfort. As far as Dante was concerned, the contact was over far too quickly.

“The three of us then,” Mephiston said. Synthalia nodded immediately. 

“I don’t truly know how I feel about that,” Dante said. Honesty had always been his way and he would not change that now. “I don’t know how I feel about a lot of things at the moment, but I will not shy away through fear of what might be. I’ll try,” he said. Synthalia leaned over and kissed his cheek, her lips soft and warm.

“That is all we can ask,” she said. She then resumed leaning against Mephiston. Seeing no other option, so did he. The sun just peeked over the horizon, smearing the sky with vivid red light.


	25. Chapter 25

It was another four days before the Blood Angels found any sort of respite. Every single member of the surviving party felt the detrimental effect of surviving in the forest on what they could find. By the time Dante and his companions stepped out of the forest and onto the broken road that led into the heart of another clan’s territory, every single one of them was nagged by exhaustion and hunger. Even Artemesia was too tired to complain about what had happened, though she had been the last to fall silent. Dagmar had grieved for Barney, who had not made it out of the castle alive. She did learn that he had helped a large group escape before a rock fell on him, extinguishing his light forever. Synthalia had let Dante and Mephiston lead their people and kept out the way. At night, the three of them would settle together by the fire but it was far from an easy companionship yet. That would come in time, maybe.

When the posts appeared bearing flags on either side of the road, there was cheering. The Wolf’s Head resting in front of a crescent moon became a beacon of hope. No one asked the question of whether they were going to call on their allies, it was merely assumed.

Synthalia’d had little dealings with the Luna Wolves when she lived with her clan. The Night Lords had raided everyone without discriminating but to get to this side of the territory meant travelling across three other clan’s lands, one of which had been the exceptionally dangerous Iron Warriors. If they caught you, you were as good as dead. It was usually deemed an unnecessary risk and so they had left the Luna Wolves to themselves. Now, it looked as though she was going to get close and personal with the lot of them.

Dagmar was walking beside her silently, her thoughts her own. Mephiston and Dante were in front of them, Artemesia and her ladies towards the back. She had not said a word to her since the harsh exchange a few days before; it was clear she needed time to come to terms with all the changes, they both did.

The approach to the castle was pristine, everything was carefully maintained but none of it was ornamental or functionless. All the plants were either fruit bearing, medicinal or vegetables. It was as ordered as the Blood Angel’s had been but there was no frivolous planting here. In some ways, it made sense to her and in others, it did not. It was so very different to what she had become used to. The walls of the castle were adorned with the banners of the Luna Wolves, and a small party had gathered to meet them.

She watched, hands wrung together to stop them shaking, as Dante and Mephiston spoke to a huge warrior with a great plume of black hair. His face was serious, his scowl deep and he looked as though he was angry by his gestures. She bit her lip, keeping her own temper in check. She had no need to go over there and mouth off, for all she knew the conversation was going well. It took a few minutes before there were nods and gestures. Dante and the huge warrior embraced as though they were long lost brothers, and they were led into the castle.

The first thing Synthalia noticed was the warmth. It hit her face and she let out a gentle sigh. There was no wind to steal the heat from her cheeks, and no wet or damp to make her shiver. She had never thought that she would be grateful for something so simple.

They were all led into a large hall with a grey stone floor. On one side was a large fireplace, issuing out heat into the room. Opposite were large windows, some of which led out onto a huge ornamental lawn. Again, the planting was neat, orderly and not without function. The walls were lined with ornate tapestries, giving the hall a homely, welcoming feeling. Synthalia let out a held breath and waited for everyone to file in.

Moments later, silence fell on the remaining Blood Angels. Their attention was turned to the black-haired warrior who had spoken with Dante. His golden eyes fell on them and a small smile touched his face. It was not a face that smiled often, but it was well meant.

When he spoke, it sounded as though he ate gravel for breakfast. “I am Ezekyle Abaddon, leader of the Luna Wolves and I bid you welcome to our home,” he said. “I am not one for great speeches, so I will not take up much of your time. I can see you are tired, hungry and in need of rest. From my understanding, you have been through quite an ordeal. The Blood Angels and Luna Wolves have held a kinship for many years and I honour that. As we speak, rooms are being prepared for you.”

He paused to let that sink in. There was clapping, some tears of relief and some of them hugged one another. Synthalia looked at Mephiston. When their eyes met, she immediately felt more at ease. Abaddon spoke again, “You are guests here, go where you wish. I ask that you treat this place with the same respect you did your own. Food is being prepared, however Tarik and Garviel,” Two warriors stood by the door in which they had entered, “Are here to take you to the rooms so you can freshen up and get settled. I know you have questions, and I will answer those, but not now. Go and rest first.”

There were more sobs, and slowly, the group began to file out. Dagmar and Artemesia were among them but Synthalia stayed behind until the end. She didn’t exactly approach Mephiston, though she wanted to be nearer him than she was. Again, her hands wrung together, but she squashed the feelings of nervousness.

Mephiston took a step towards her and extended his hands, taking hers and giving them a gentle squeeze, “What is wrong?” he asked. There was no fight left in her, but she didn’t sag against him or show her relief at the contact. He might be able to see it in her aura but there was no outer sign.

“I want to make sure I am welcome here too,” she said, blurting out what was on her mind. It was louder than she intended it to be.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” he asked. She pressed her lips together and forced away the lump in her throat. It was the stress of the last few days making her overly emotional, of that she was sure. Abaddon and Dante looked up and both walked over. Her ink black eyes looked up at the huge warrior. Immediately she knew what he was about to say.

“You’re not the only Night Lord here,” he said without judgement.

“What?” Synthalia asked.

“You’re not the only one of your kind here, and you are as welcome as he is,” Abaddon said. Her grip on Mephiston’s hand tightened and she struggled to find words. Who could it be? Who else could have survived the obliteration of their home? “He isn’t here at the moment, but if you come back later, I am sure you can get reacquainted.”

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper. Her voice was considerably higher pitched than it had been moments before.

“Come on,” Dante said to them both, “We’ve rooms to go to.” Synthalia nodded. Mephiston tugged her hand and she walked with him, letting herself be led as her mind wondered over who it might be. The faces of her dead kin came to mind and countless names flooded her memory. There were so many it could be, so many she hoped it would be.

Before she knew it, a door was being shut behind her and strong arms scooped her against a cold chest. Her arms wrapped around his waist and she leaned into him. Cold lips touched the top of her hair and she realised she was crying. Immediately she felt foolish, she should be relieved, full of joy that another of her clan had survived, yet all she felt was this overwhelming sense of nothing.

After a moment, she pulled away. “Sorry,” she muttered, wiping her tears away with the heel of her hand. Her eyes stung and she looked at the floor.

“Don’t be,” he said. “It has been a difficult week for all of us,” Mephiston said.

The sound of water running into a tub drew her attention, and Dante poked his head out from another door. “Don’t let anyone disturb me for the next hour!” he said before shutting the door firmly. Of course he was here too, they’d all been bunking down together since they had spoken to one another, why would it be any different here? His hand slid into hers and he tugged her further into the room. There were three double beds contained within, large, piled with blankets and pillows. They looked so comfortable, She gravitated towards the one in the middle, with dark coverings.

“This would be luxurious even if I hadn’t spent the last week sleeping on the floor,” she said, on the verge of weeping again. She ran her free hand over the plush covered before glancing at Mephiston. Freeing herself, she threw herself onto the bed. It embraced her as she landed and she knew that she wasn’t going to move for some time… at least until the bathroom was free. Mephiston raised a slender eyebrow at her and she grinned, “Well? Are you going to leave me here on my own?” she asked.

He did not need to be told twice, though he did pause to remove his worn shoes. Synthalia decided this was a good idea and did the same. When he climbed onto her bed, for it was hers now, she waited for him to settle and she snuggled into him. Mephiston pulled her in close, though his skin remained cold. That was fine by her, it was good enough to just lay beside him without the cold creeping in through the floor, without the sniffling of another close by and without the snores of sleeping people. She let her eyes close breathed in his scent and knew that for now, they were safe.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

After, she had abused the bathtub. Mephiston followed and they all relaxed. Clothing had been provided and she was surprised to learn that it fit her. Black fatigues and a light grey top which was utterly comfortable compared to what she had been wearing for the past week and a half. The three of them had been just about to head back to the Wolves hall, when there was a fierce knock at the door. It opened without preamble and in strode Dagmar. Synthalia thought she looked furious.

“Good, you’re all dressed and don’t smell like you’ve been in the woods for a week. All of you, come with me. We got some fat to chew and by the Great Angel, you are going to chew it!”

None of them argued with her, just followed her out of their bedroom and down the corridor a way. It looked as if she knew exactly where she was going. None of them spoke. They were led to a well decorated room, which contained several chairs. They had been arranged so that five chairs faced inwards. One of them was occupied by Artemesia. The expression on her face was thunderous; distantly, Synthalia noted that it was good to see an expression other than mopey weepiness on her face. She also knew that anger was directed right at her.

“Now, sit yourselves down in that circle,” Dagmar said. They did as she asked and for a moment, they all sat there awkwardly avoiding one another’s gaze. Dagmar sat on Synthalia’s left, Mephiston on her right. Dante was beside him and then Artemesia completed the five of them. Silence reigned. Synthalia shifted. She sat on her hands. Dagmar snorted.

It was Dante who spoke first. “It seems we have been called together like this for a reason. I think we all know that reason already, but if this is an open forum to air our grievances, then so be it. Sister, why do you not start off. I assume this was your idea seeing how you are already here,” he said. There was no accusation in his tone, just a willingness to get this done.

“Before you all begin,” Dagmar said, “I want to establish some speaking rules. If you have the talking piece, you talk. If not, then you keep your mouth shut and your ears open or by the Emperor I will cut you!” Artemesia silently held up a small cushion, indicating the piece in question. “You get to go first.”

Artemesia’s gaze swept over each of them. When Synthalia met them, she realised that the little blonde woman was furious. So angry in fact, that when she spoke, Synthalia was sure her eye teeth were extended as Mephiston’s had been. This was not the pouting child Synthalia had assumed she was, this was the fury of a woman scorned, a woman who had lost everything and was looking to offload some blame for that. Some of it was rightfully placed as well.

She didn’t start right away, she simply glared at them as if her gaze would be enough to melt them into the floor. None of them stirred, waiting for her to begin. “I have a lot of anger,” she said, almost breathless with the rage. “I will say my piece, and then you can do with that as you will.” She turned to Mephiston first, “Mephiston. I tried my best with you. I don’t care if you believe me or not, I did. Regardless of the circumstance of our beginning, I had thought we made progress towards something workable. You threw that back in my face when you went behind my back. I know you were talking to Father about us, and I know what you wanted. You never spoke to me! Not once! The way I found out is when that, that.” She paused and ground her teeth for a moment. When she spoke again, she was calmer. “That kiss happened in front of everyone. Not once did you think about how I felt. It just showed me how selfish you were. Where was your sense of honour when it came to me?”

Mephiston made no reply, he wrung his hands together in his lap but said nothing. It seemed as though he was going to honour the use of the talking piece. Synthalia had thought to defend herself, and him, but she did not want to disrespect Dagmar – she knew well enough that the threat wasn’t empty.

“Synthalia, you’re every bit as bad as he is. You came here and upset everything. I tried to be friends with you but no, you’d not have it. You went after him knowing full well he was obliged elsewhere. I have nothing but contempt for you. And you Dante. What are you even doing? You’ve been away for so long, you didn’t write, you barely ever returned. When you do, you see what’s happening and take their side! What about me? What about how I feel? Our father has just died and you don’t seem to care about it!”

Synthalia looked at Dante to see anguish on his face. She wondered whether he would cry. There had been some nights where she had comforted him, when the sorrow had been too much. She knew he didn’t want to show that to the rest of their people. She had held him in silence and he had let her. Some nights, Mephiston had done so. Sometimes they both did. It hadn’t been time for intimacy other than that gentle comfort but it had been something. Artemesia had seen none of that however, how would she know?

She stuck her bottom jaw out and ground her teeth. “I am done,” she sniffed before handing the piece to Dante.

Dante turned the cushion over in his hands. Synthalia could almost hear his thoughts turning over in his mind. “You speak of me as though I cared not at all for our father,” he said, finally looking up from the cushion, “Do you think so little of me that I would forget everything he did? I know he was not a perfect man, but he was my father. I would give both eyes to have him back in the world.” Dante paused when his voice cracked. Taking a deep breath, his eyes fell back to his hands.

“When I returned home, I did not expect to find it in such disarray. So much had changed that I had no idea where to begin. It didn’t stop either. We were under attack, my father refused to listen to reason and my best friend was cheating on my sister with a strange woman. I had more on my mind than your emotional welfare at the time and have done since then. My priority has been everyone, not just you. I am sorry if you’ve found me cold, but you’ve not supported me either. I have led our people to safety, you have sulked, pouted and complained every step of the way. I cannot carry you every step of the way-“

“I didn’t expect you to!” Artemesia blurted out.

“Artemsia!” snapped Dagmar.

She gave a contrite nod.

“Mephiston.” Dante said turning to the man he loved, “I have to say, I know you weren’t happy about being betrothed to Artemesia but I don’t think you did the right thing. You should have waited, and you Synthalia. Your behaviour was not exactly perfect.” Synthalia nodded, and she saw the guilty look on Mephiston’s face as well. The piece was passed over to Mephiston next and when he spoke, there was little hesitation. Synthalia knew then that this had troubled him.

“Artemesia,” he said, “I owe you an apology. When I agreed to the betrothal, I was under pressure. We all know the circumstance of how it came about. I wanted it to work and I tried to do so. We are very different and I believe now that I made a mistake. I should have chosen exile. You scorned a large part of who I am, you refused to acknowledge what I can do and found it abhorrent. Should I repress myself to please you then? I could for so long, but not forever. When Synthalia came into our lives, she made me realise I was damaging us both and while I should not have done as I did, I do not regret the outcome.”

He then turned to Dante and swallowed. “I love you as much as I do her,” he said gesturing to Synthalia, “I never stopped, though I convinced myself otherwise in your absence. You didn’t fight for me, you just left without a word and so I was left without a choice. How could I leave without knowing? I made a terrible choice but I couldn’t go without the chance of speaking to you again. We were children together, we grew up together and it hurt so much when you just disappeared.”

Mephiston handed the cushion to Dante, in case he wanted to speak again. Synthalia saw the tears on his cheeks and her chest ached to see such raw emotion on his face. He shook his head. She found the soft cushion in her hands then and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say.

She looked at Artemesia and let out a sigh. “I was a dickhead,” she said. “I shouldn’t have let things get out of hand, they did and I acted like a selfish twat. I am not perfect, I never claimed that. But I am a damned sight better than I was. I don’t hate you, you’re damned annoying but I don’t hate you. We got off to a bad start and that was your fault. I remember the night you baited me, made fun of me in front of all your high and mighty bitch friends. I don’t know why you did and I don’t care now. I hated you then though.” She paused and looked at the rest of the circle. “I got no more to add.” She chucked the cushion into the middle and looked around, “What now?”

Dagmar coughed, rose and grabbed the cushion. “I don’t expect this to heal the wounds you have all landed on one another. It might not happen at all, but you’ve all had your say. What you do now is up to you.”

Synthalia thought Artemesia was a long way from forgiving her or Mephiston, and she cared little for that, but she hoped she could make up with her brother. She coughed. “You might not want this,” she said, “But for what it is worth, I’m sorry for what I did.”

Artemesia did not snub her, nor did she reply. She gave a curt little nod and that was it. Dagmar snorted. She got up and replaced the cushion onto her seat. “I’m done. I did what I was asked. You can do as you like, but I am going to go and join that party the Luna Wolves have put on for us.” With that, the diminutive woman strode from the room.

Silence fell. Once again, it fell to Dante to break it. “Can you two give us some time?” he said turning to Mephiston and her. She nodded immediately.

“Of course,” she said. Mephiston simply smiled and got to his feet.

“Come on,” he said, holding his hand out for her. She took it without hesitation. “I believe you have one of your kinsmen to meet,” he added. The reminder made her stomach lurch and she tried to smile. Mephiston led her out the room, leaving the siblings to talk out their issues.

“I hope they can make things right,” she said as they walked towards the hall again. Mephiston remained silent, his thoughts his own. He squeezed her hand in acknowledgement, and they walked into the hall quietly. A huge table had been laid out, covered in food and tankards of beer. Synthalia almost wept at the sight. She had survived on the flesh of dead people before, and she hadn’t had to do so since being taken in by the Blood Angels, but seeing this fare after eating nothing but berries and what they could scavenge it seemed like a feast.

She picked up some meat, shoved it between some bread and grabbed a mug of beer. It was the best thing she had ever tasted. It was good to see Mephiston tucking into some food as well. She heard a familiar laugh coming from a large chair at the fireplace and she blinked. When the owner of the laugh looked over and locked eyes with her, she almost dropped the tankard. “You always did like gobbling another man’s meat,” commented the owner of the laugh.

She coughed into the beer and found herself moving forward. Black eyes, so like hers, locked on and the figure moved as swiftly as she did. Arms locked around her waist and she embraced her kinsman tightly. “You’re meant to be dead!” she said.

“Am I not?” he asked. She patted his back and he let her go. Synthalia stepped back and smiled.

“You look very much alive to me Sevatar,” she said.

“Grab me a beer then, we can catch up on the last few months!” She obliged and grabbed the seat next to him, wanting to hear exactly what had happened.


End file.
